


You're Gorgeous (A Drarry Fan-Fiction)

by You1gnorant5lu1



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:08:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 39,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28856358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/You1gnorant5lu1/pseuds/You1gnorant5lu1
Summary: "Are you proud to be a Death Eater?""Y-yes, my Lord."All eyes were fixed on him. His blood was running cold, but his heart was racing inside his chest. He caught his mother's eye from across the circle, and she smiled at him encouragingly from beneath her hood."I am proud, my Lord." He said stiffly.Voldemort stepped closer, and Draco bowed his head, focusing instead on the frayed edges of his robes."I see the devotion in your eyes," Voldemort hissed, his long, bony fingers delicately gripping the boy's chin and tilting his head upward. "Yes, I see devotion. I see unwonted affection and loyalty that does not belong to me or the cause." His glowing red eyes were like burning coals in the darkroom. "Where does your loyalty lie, Malfoy? With me? Or with another?"
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 20
Kudos: 95





	1. Prologue

_Harry Potter_ ,

_I never imagined I'd be writing a letter to you; particularly the likes of this one. I never thought I'd have such an urge. But really, ever since the day we met you've been in my head. I can't get you out. You're trapped there. I know I probably sound mental, like some thick-witted schoolgirl with a crush, but I'm not. I'm not entirely that anyway._

_I don't simply have a crush on you. It's so much deeper than that. I'd know. I can grasp the difference between a silly little crush and the way I feel right now, writing this fatuous letter. Salazar, I don't even comprehend why I'm writing this! Especially now, of all the other bloody times I could have decided. Just shows you what a bloody fool I am!_

_I feel incredulously absurd writing this, but I love you. I've only said those words to a foreseeable amount of people in my life. I could name the lot of 'em off to you right now, but I won't. That would give away my identity, and decidedly, I don't wish to do that._

_I'm never going to get the chance to say this to your face, as circumstances would in no way allow it, and as it would be highly frowned upon. I also wouldn't be able to say it straight to your face because you're just too damn gorgeous. It's your fault! Maybe if your magnetic pull weren't so damn strong, I wouldn't be writing you this stupid letter!_

_I'm just going to go straight to the point, Harry._

_I love you._

_I just wanted you to know in a way. I love you more than I'd like to admit._

_Yours faithfully_ , 

_Anonymous_


	2. -1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco sends Harry an anonymous letter and mulls over the coming school year.

Draco Malfoy gazed down at his ridiculous love letter with impassioned, tear-filled eyes, his fingers still tightly folded around his quill. His Eagle Owl was perched on the ornate desk beside him; head cocked as it waited quietly for Draco to make up his mind once and for all.

"Should I send it, Bubo?" Draco asked, glancing shortly at his owl, "I'm not confident that my protection spells are going to conceal my identity effectively. Knowing Potter and his retarded friends, they'll probably find some criminal way to break through them."

Bubo just looked blankly back at him with wide, orange, unblinking orbs.

"You know what," Draco shakily reached for his letter, folded it, slipped it into an envelope, and sealed it shut, "screw it. I'm sending it! I can't just second guess my spells. They're excellent! Not even stupid Granger could break them."

Bubo clacked in objection, and Draco groaned.

"God, why am I even talking to you? You're just a stupid owl!"

He grabbed his wand from off the desk, mumbled another protection spell for extra measure, and then he tensely tucked the envelope into Bubo's snapping beak.

"Bloody hell!" Draco held his bleeding finger and glared icy daggers at his owl, "I hate you with a passion. You know that, right?"

Draco grimaced as he wrested open his tall, heavy window and helped the old bird up onto the grimy ledge. The sticky early September air suddenly filled the room as he watched his bird fly into the stormy, leaden sky, wings silhouetted against the looming clouds.

"Good luck finding him, you old fart," Draco sighed.

What if the three muggle-loving blood-traitors were able to disclose his identity? He could only imagine the great Chosen One's response when he ascertained the absurdity of the situation.

Knowing Harry the way he did, he knew that the boy wouldn't laugh or scorn him. It would shock him undoubtedly, maybe it would anger him for some unknown reason, and he'd even be the slightest bit disgusted - but he would never laugh. Never. Harry wasn't a filthy git like he was.

These passions were entirely one-sided. Draco was quite convinced of that. Not once had Harry wavered. Not once had Harry ever given the slightest suspicion of any kind emotion towards Draco other than contempt and raw, smoldering hatred.

"Master Draco?"

Draco brushed a single lonesome tear from his cold cheek and turned to find the house-elf, Wilky, standing timidly in the open doorway. He was frightened of Draco, although he didn't have much of a reason of late. The Malfoy heir had kept mostly to himself over the summer and had, for the most part, been more sympathetic to the Malfoy house-elves than he used to make a habit of.

"Dinner?"

"Yes, Master, Mistress Narcy wants you downstairs," Wilky told him shakily, his tiny legs vibrating underneath his miniature frame.

Draco nodded dismissively, and the house-elf disapparated, neglecting the boy standing alone in his dark, gloomy bedroom. He looked out the window once more, but his old owl was long gone, and he could only hope that the frail creature made it to Potter before the school year began.

He didn't want his confession to be fresh on Harry's mind once they were around each other again for fear that the dark-haired boy would catch on. That was the last thing he wanted. He would crumble if Harry knew.

He would be as good as dead if Harry knew. . .

\--

Draco's footsteps were muffled by the dingy carpet, but he knew his father could hear him approaching as he walked speechlessly down the shadowy corridor. The walls were riddled with family heirlooms and paintings. They jeered and scoffed at him as he walked by, and Draco glowered at them hatefully in return.

Finally, he stepped into the dining room, and their laughter died behind him as he made his way to the seat opposite of the fireplace - the middle of the long, narrow table. His father sat silently at one end, and his mother at the other. The Malfoys' dining room was even gloomier than Draco's cold, empty bedroom, despite the fire that roared in the massive stone fireplace. It was longer than it was wide, with a wooden table that spanned most of the room's length. The candles that flickered over their heads gave the room a sort of sinister, ghostly atmosphere.

"Ah, Draco," Lucius' voice echoed in the empty room, "I meant to ask. Was that your owl I saw flying when I came home?"

Draco nodded, his body tensing.

"I do hope that you are not relaying any valuable information to your classmates," his father's voice was cold, almost threatening.

"No, father,"

"Good,"

"Draco, are you alright, sweetheart?"

Draco looked up at his mother and lied solemnly to her face, "I'm fine, mother. Just fine." The lie was bitter on his tongue.

He wasn't fine. He wasn't fine at all. Tomorrow, he was going back to Hogwarts, and being around Harry was going to be just that much more painful. 


	3. -2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco boards the Hogwarts Express and tries to avoid Harry and his friends, but fails, ending in confrontation.

Draco stood tiredly on the platform, awash in the throng of excited Hogwarts students; his head bowed as he strived to avoid eye-contact with anyone he knew. That wasn't easy, but he didn't mind keeping up the effort. He didn't much feel like a friendly conversation today, and he particularly lacked the wits he required for a chat with Potter.

"For god's sakes, fix your hair, Draco," Lucius Malfoy commanded bitterly from over Draco's shoulder, handing over the last of his son's luggage. "You hardly look decent. You rarely do."

Draco took the last bag and hoisted it over his shoulder before looking up at his father with a wounded expression. "Sorry, father," he whispered, as he submissively raked his fingers through his disheveled silvery blonde hair.

"I love you, sweetheart," Narcissa Malfoy shot her son a troubled, anxious smile before curtly waving him farewell and disappearing as they walked through the brick wall and off of platform 9/3.

Draco didn't lose a single moment. He needed to be on the Hogwarts Express and securely hidden away in his own compartment. He didn't want to risk Harry Potter seeing him like this, if at all.

Draco had nearly made it. He'd almost slipped unnoticed into one of the back compartments when he was interposed by the sound of a Weasley's all-too-familiar voice.

"Well, if it isn't Malfoy,"

He froze solid, every muscle in his body seizing, but he stiffly forced himself to face him nonetheless. He eyed up the ginger with his most pretentious smile.

"Oh, look," he sneered, "it's a weasel,"

"You look bloody awful. Has old Voldy been swinging by the house lately?"

Draco felt his facial muscles constrict. "And I see I your mother's been feeding you too much,"

"Well, at least I'm being fed," Ron jibed, his eyes narrowed spitefully, "you look like a walking sack of bones."

"And you look like a troll ate a rat and shat it out!" he pinched his nose, "Smell like it, too."

"Cut it out, Ron,"

Draco's eyes momentarily strayed to Hermione, who was standing motionless by Ron's side, her hand resting reassuringly on his shoulder. She looked kinder than Draco remembered.

"Leave it, Hermione," Ron shot back, indignant, his nostrils flaring.

Draco met the angry Weasley's glare, but weakly. He attempted to stretch his lips into a challenging sneer, but instead, it looked like a bitter smile. His eyes, instead of surging with rage, were rather sinking with fatigue, rimmed in purple.

"What's going on, Ron?"

Solidified. Frozen solid. Unmoving. Only Draco's eyes moved, slowly shifting to the boy who had just spoken as he emerged from the massive swarm of students accumulating around them between compartments. Emerald green collided with silver, and Draco felt his soul crumble at the sight of him, the pain making his heart snap in two like a twig underfoot.

"Ferret," Harry greeted him in low, threatening tones.

The overhanging lights glinted off of the metal frames of Harry's glasses and caught in his emerald eyes, while his lips curled up into a repugnant sneer that any Malfoy would have been proud of. Draco could feel himself vibrating, his breath catching in his lungs, his expressions now quite out of his control, now fraught with emotion.

"Fucking scar-head," he choked, struggling to maintain his dignity as his heart pounded in his chest and his eyes burned.

Suddenly, everything was still, except for the animated chatter of the ogling students, and for a second, Harry's hateful sneer transformed into a confused, half-concerned stare. Ron's bewildered gaze kept shifting between the two boys, and Hermione looked as if she might have been holding her breath. Draco swallowed, but his mouth was dry. He could feel the tears in his eyes threatening to drop, and he clenched his jaw with a weak resolution. He wouldn't break in front of him. He wouldn't give in.

"Had enough staring at my sickly mug yet, or are you enjoying the view?" Draco snapped, fists clenched at his sides.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Draco quickly cut him off, reaching out to shove the boy up against the opposite compartment. He could feel Harry's hurried breath hot on his face. Draco saw directly into the boy's wide, bewitching eyes. It drove him mad. He couldn't have him. He could never have him. Why was he so gorgeous, damn it!?

"Potter, Potter, Potter," he half-screamed, "The Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, Professor Dumbledore's favorite. Famous, aren't we? You think everybody loves you. You can't help yourself! You're full of it, Potter, you're full of it!"

Ron was on him in seconds, grabbing Malfoy by the back of his robes, Hermione struggling to hold the angry ginger back as he rammed a large, meaty first into Draco's pointed face. Draco felt his lip bust and his nose crack sickeningly as Weasley's knuckles collided with his skin, blood pooling.

"Ron, stop! One of the prefects is coming!" Hermione pleaded.

Students stopped cheering him on, and Ron quickly coiled back from Draco with a suddenly panicked expression. Draco looked back at him, his eyes half-open as he waited for the next punch. But it didn't come. His grip loosened on Draco's robes. . .

Harry gulped as he glanced restlessly down the aisle, suspecting to see Percy Weasley or a Professor stamping towards them. But there was no one. He felt resentment, guilt, and uncertainty like a stone in his gut. He should've stayed Ron's hand, but he hadn't.

Draco. Harry raised his eyes to scrutinize Draco's wan, pale face again, but when he turned to look, the boy was gone. 


	4. -3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Draco pines over Harry.

Draco awoke with a start, his grey eyes snapping open as he gazed blankly into the enclosing darkness.

"We're stopped?" He grunted, his back aching as he forced himself to sit upon the leather-bound seat. "Why're we stopped?"

There was a din outside the door of his compartment - feet scuffling hastily by, girls laughing, boys jeering. Draco could hear himself breathing in the dark, quiet space, and for once, he felt nothing. The pain he'd felt beforehand had evaporated with his tears, and he was left feeling deadened inside. He sat there expressionless in the dark, waiting wordlessly for the racket to fade in his ears. After a few minutes, it was soundless, and Draco weakly stood, gripping the window-ledge for support as he helped himself up.

"Bloody hell," he breathed huskily, as he gained his balance, his vision swaying.

Just as Draco was reaching for the door handle, he heard approaching footsteps and the low hum of voices. He froze for a moment, listening, his head bowed. Was that Granger's voice he heard?

"Still, I don't think you should've hit him,"

"Why?" Ron demanded maliciously. "The slimy git deserved it."

"But he didn't harm Harry!"

"He was about to!"

"You don't know that, Ron."

"Why're you defending that racist pig anyway? What good has he ever done for you?"

Hermione's voice softened, and she sounded - sorry. "I pity him."

Draco felt anger like a burning hot coal in the pit of his stomach, and his face twitched with rage. He wanted to scream out, "I don't need your pity," but he held his tongue. He could hear the sound of their footsteps - three pairs of feet. Harry must have been dawdling behind them a little, presumably lost in thought, and Draco divided the curtain to catch a fleeting glimpse of him in the restricted passageway.

"He's gorgeous," he helplessly murmured in awe.

Harry stopped abruptly, and Draco stiffened.

"Harry, you coming?"

The beautiful boy raised his head, his scarred brow wrinkled in thought, "Oh, what, yes," he stammered, as his eyes shifted warily in Draco's direction.

Draco's breath hitched, his heart pounding in his ribs.

"Are you alright?" Draco heard Hermione ask, her concerned voice muffled through the walls.

"Oh, yes,"

Draco caught his breath as he heard Harry moving nearer to the door.

"I just . . . I thought I heard something."

Ron spoke up, and this time he sounded frustrated. "C'mon, let's just go, Harry! The train is going to take off again in a few minutes, and I, for one, didn't intend on heading back to London."

Draco heard Harry's hand slip off of the door handle, and he let out a low sigh of relief, shutting his eyes and hoping to hear Harry's voice again.

"Right. Sorry,"

Draco couldn't withstand the urge. He peered through the curtain again, his dilated eyes fixed longingly on Harry's back as he hurried to catch up with his friends, his unkempt hair bouncing with each step. And then, like magic, he was gone, and like magic, Draco's broken heart began to ache again.

But he didn't shed a single tear. 


	5. -4-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco begins feeling violently ill, and he injures himself very badly. Harry heroically swoops into the rescue.

The carriages were already rumbling and splashing along down the path to the castle when Draco finally climbed off the train with his baggage at Hogsmeade station. It felt as if he were lugging bags filled with stones! He plodded through the mud as the train whistled loudly behind him, his heart thudding in his chest from the muscular strain. He hadn't realized that he had become this weak. He was disgusted with himself for falling apart like this. The dementors, his father, Lord Voldemort's visits to the manor - it had all but worn him through like an over-used sponge. He wasn't sure how much more he could have endured.

At the end of the dark platform, Draco froze, his grip on his luggage instinctively tightening. His father had to have jinxed him because his luck was as foul as the weather. There was only one horseless carriage left waiting for him at the platform, and of course, he could see Harry sitting by the door, his Hogwarts robes wrapped tightly around his slender figure. Ron was glaring at him through the misty rain, looking as agitated as ever, while Hermione sat massaging her temples in an attempt to calm herself. She must have been losing her patience with the bloke, and Draco didn't blame her in the least. She always had to rein the stupid Weasley boy in.

Draco was almost half-inclined to walk, but he reconsidered when a sudden gust of wind made him shiver through his robes. Reluctantly, he walked down the platform and climbed into the carriage.

There was a rumble of thunder overhead, and Draco shivered again, grudgingly taking the seat beside Cho Chang, who was sitting uncomfortably close to Harry. She scooted away from Draco and closer to Harry, looking awkwardly at the Slytherin with her dark eyes.

"Hate me that much, do you?" Draco asked darkly.

"No," she stammered, "I don't hate you."

"I do," Ron mumbled under his breath. Hermione jabbed him purposefully with her elbow, and he grunted unappreciatively in response.

Draco didn't care to argue. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at Ron scornfully from beneath his dampened hood.

"Is it just me, or does the atmosphere feel a little tense?" Luna Lovegood asked softly from beside Hermione, looking innocently from face to face. "It must be the nargles."

As the carriage jerked suddenly into motion and began to roll down the path towards the castle, the young wizards hushed, no one daring to utter even a single word. Not even Harry seemed to feel up to the challenge as he sat stiffly beside Cho, his expression taut with discomfort.

The ride felt unbearably long to Draco. Even with the girl sitting between them, butterflies seemed to wrest tirelessly inside his stomach. He shifted uncomfortably, bowing his head and staring angrily at his soiled shoes.

At long last, they rolled through the gates up the sweeping drive, the carriage swaying a little in the wind. He could see Hogwarts looming nearer and nearer; it's many bright windows glowing through the mist. The carriage came to a halt at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the front doors. People in the other carriages were already walking up the steps and filing through the doors. Draco eagerly pulled himself to his feet and carefully climbed out of the carriage, his knees almost buckling underneath him. He could feel the weasel appraising him, and his cheeks burned in the cold.

"Didn't your mother teach you not to stare, or do the Weasleys pay no heed to manners?" Draco yelled at him over a peal of thunder.

The bigger boy jumped energetically out of the carriage. "Shove off, Malfoy, or I'll hex you this time." He spat back.

Draco snorted and abruptly turned his back on the red-head and his friends. He'd had enough excitement for one night. He wasn't even sure if he could make it through the Sorting Ceremony and Dumbledore's speech. He wasn't hungry, so he was planning on slipping out of the Great Hall during the feast to rest. Merlin only knew he needed it.

He started scaling the steps when a sudden jolt of pain in his head made him freeze abruptly, a gasp escaping his pale lips. He grabbed the wet stone railing for support, his fingers turning white as he ground his teeth through the pain.

"Malfoy?"

"Go away,"

A pair of firm, boyish hands gripped his arm, and Draco forced himself to open his eyes through the searing pain.

Green eyes made his heart melt like butter, and he fought the urge to spill.

"I'm fine, Potter," Draco instinctively jerked his arm out of Harry's grasp, leaving his flesh tingling where the boy's hand had rested. "Leave me be!"

"You're not well, you git!" Harry shot back, his dark eyebrows furrowed fiercely, although his eyes were filled with unexplained solicitude.

His presence was intoxicating. His touch felt enchanting, almost electric. Draco fought the urge to vomit at the sensation; his stomach caught up in knots at Harry's proximity.

"Since when have you cared about my state of health?" 

"Y'know what," Harry snapped, "you're right."

With that, Draco watched as The Chosen One turned sharply on his heel and walked calmly up the stone steps. Ron and Hermione quickly joined their friend at his side, asking him what the hell was wrong with him and why he was so worried about Draco Malfoy of all people. The Slytherin could hear their patronizing voices, and he snarled in disgust and anger. He hated them. He hated them with everything he had.

Suddenly, another jolt of pain made his skull feel as if it were cleft in two. He gasped in pain and bent over the railing, his stomach-churning. He felt cold, hollow, and weak, and he felt his brain slowly splitting. What the hell was wrong with him? Was it the stress? Was it his body's lack of nutrition?

Probably both.

Students hurried past him without so much as a glance, ignoring him and just chatting excitedly as they walked on by, a blur of familiar faces. Neville Longbottom. Seamus Finnigan. Blaise Zabini. Pansy Parkinson.

For a moment, the pain was so intense that Draco thought he might cry out for help. . . But then, his eyes closed, and he felt his legs buckle beneath him. His head smashed into something hard, and then everything went black. The darkness swallowed him whole.

 _Harry_. . . _come back._


	6. -5-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry carries Draco to the hospital wing, much to Ron's dismay. Malfoy's mysterious condition piques Harry's curiosity.

"Harry, what the bloody hell is wrong with you?" Ron demanded, immediately joining Harry at his side as they climbed the stone steps. "Why the hell are you worried about Malfoy? I mean, of all people!"

"I don't know," Harry lied, shrugging off his friend's belligerent question. "Pity, I guess. I mean, you have looked at him, haven't you? He looks . . . horrible."

"So?"

"Ron!" Hermione gaped at the Weasley incredulously.

"What?"

As Hermione tried defining compassion to Ron in persuasive tones, Harry found himself glancing over his shoulder. Students scurried around them through the doors, trying to get out of the rain and into the castle. Harry ignored them, standing there blankly staring down the steps at the hooded figure bent over the railing below.

"Can we just go in already?" Ron interrupted Hermione pleadingly, "It's really bloody cold out here."

Hermione glowered at him and turned back to Harry. "Let's go in. If he complains one more time, I swear I'm going to lose my - Harry?"

She followed his wandering gaze to Malfoy, who seemed to be struggling for breath as students walked heedlessly past him.

"Harry, there's nothing you can do,"

"I-"

"There's nothing," Hermione's chestnut-colored eyes glinted reassuringly in the warm, golden light from the castle. "He told you to leave him be, and knowing Malfoy, it would be pointless to test his temper."

"You're right." he sighed, "Let's go in."

Suddenly, excited voices stirred below, and Harry whirled around, instantly alert. He saw Draco tumbling down the stairs, his back twisted at an unnatural angle as he went, eyes rolled to the back of his sunken sockets.

"Malfoy," he gasped, quickly running down the slippery steps. He shoved an open-mouthed Seamus Finnigan out of his way and then crouched in the mud at Draco's side, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Malfoy, can you hear me?" he shook the boy's arm madly, but he didn't respond. He lay there motionless, his head resting in a mud puddle, his white-blonde hair matted to his feverish forehead. "He's out cold," He told Hermione as she knelt beside him.

"Oh, god," she whispered, reaching out to touch an odd lump in the Slytherin's left wrist. "That's definitely shattered. Harry, you need to take him to the hospital wing right now. Merlin's pants! He's bleeding! Harry, quick!"

Sure enough, blood was pooling from Draco's ears and his nostrils, and a little even dribbled at the corners of his pale mouth. Although Harry hated the petty Slytherin with enthusiasm, he couldn't help but feel concerned at the sight of the frail, weak boy as he lay there bleeding in the dirt, his pearlescent skin glistening in the rain. This time, it wasn't play. There was no hippogriff loitering about the Hogwarts grounds.

Panting, he grabbed the slender boy and hoisted him into his arms. Surprisingly, he wasn't much heavier than Hedwig, and that was what alarmed Harry the most. No 15-year-old boy should be as light as feathers.

"Hurry!"

Harry ran up the steps through the rain, elbowing his way through the gaping throng with a rather panicked look on his face.

"Damn it, Neville, move!" he yelled, pushing the clumsy boy rather roughly aside with his shoulder.

He ran through the double doors, past Ron, who stared at him with a confounded expression when he saw the familiar Slytherin lying unconscious in his friend's arms.

"What in the-"

"Not now, Ron!" Harry avoided the Great Hall, turning towards the winding corridor to find the hospital wing. "Get Madame Pomphrey!" He called over his shoulder. "Now! I think he's dying!"


	7. -6-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco awakes in the Hogwarts infirmary and realizes who saved him.

The sheets were coarse against Draco's sensitive skin as he stirred, his ice-blue eyes fluttering open. He squinted into the dazzling morning light, momentarily blinded by the sun as it streamed in through the towering windows of the infirmary. He couldn't help but wonder where he was. What had happened? Wasn't he supposed to be in the Great Hall? He frowned in confusion, searching the vaulted stone ceiling for answers.

"Malfoy?"

He blinked, then focused his gaze on the concerned face of Madame Pomphrey now idling over him, his confusion only escalating. "What. . . what happened?" he asked weakly, his voice grating on his throat like nails on a chalkboard.

She smiled tenderly at him, though her anxiety was still visible in every little wrinkle on her kind, motherly face. "You fell last night and hit your head pretty badly. Do you remember anything? Anything at all?"

Draco drew an unsteady breath and struggled to remember, furrowing his brow in thought. He couldn't remember much. He remembered boarding the Hogwarts Express, the confrontation with Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, and the uncomfortably awkward ride from the station. Damn it, the butterflies! Being around Harry again was almost unbearable. He felt bitter. He hated how Harry could so easily get in his head; how he could disable him with just a glance and a sultry whisper.

"No," Draco finally murmured, looking back up into the witch's face, "nothing."

She nodded reassuringly, "It's alright. It'll come to you eventually." She reached beside the bed and picked up a steaming cup of tea, "Here you are. I promise this will make you feel better, sweetheart."

Draco sat up and took the cup into his trembling hands. When he tasted it, it was warm and sweet, with a hint of honey and berries. It was nothing like the tea he was accustomed to drinking at home, and for a moment, he felt a smile tugging at his pale lips. It made him feel. . . happy.

"Thank you," he whispered through his chapped lips. He took another sip, his smile broadening despite his vertigo and his nausea.

"You're welcome, darling. You know, you have young Potter to thank for last night-"

Draco's heart leaped into his throat, and he choked on it.

"If it hadn't been for him, you'd most likely be dead. You weren't in the best condition, you know."

"What?"

"He carried you all the way here, and he waited with you," Madam Pomphrey went on enthusiastically. "It was quite unlike him if I do say so myself! I-"

"No, no, no," He threw back the crisp, white sheets hastily, hot tea sloshing onto his sweater as he clumsily clambered out of bed. His head was spinning, but he ignored it as his stockinged feet touched the cold, stone floor.

"Wait, where d'you think your going, young man?" Madame Pomphrey demanded, grabbing Draco's arm, "You have to rest!"

Draco jerked his arm from her grip and looked up at her with a panicked expression, "You don't understand! I have to go," he yelled, "I have to play this one off, or I'm done for."

"What on earth are you going on about," she laughed nervously, "Lie back down, sweetie."

Draco shook his head and rushed from the door, stumbling a little over his own feet. His vision was fuzzy, and it swayed from side to side as if he were standing on a yacht. He felt sick. He couldn't believe that the year had already gone so horribly wrong! How had things gone from bad to worse within a matter of hours? Salazar, his father, had to have jinxed him! There was no other explanation for his poor luck. Draco ran out of breath, ungracefully losing speed as he came to a halt in the castle's long stone corridor. He leaned forward, supporting his arms on his knees, gasping for air as he stared wide-eyed at the floor. How in the hell had this happened? Indebted to Harry Potter, who had allegedly saved his life. Why. . . why had he done it? With all of the hatred and contempt that the Chosen One harbored for the Slytherin, why would he bother saving his life?

"There you are," Madame Pomphrey's ragged breathing interrupted Draco's train of thought, and she slid her hands reassuringly across his shoulders, "C'mon, let's get back to bed now. There there, easy does it."

She slowly guided him back to the infirmary with her arm wrapped around his shoulders, one hand gripping his forearm tightly. He felt so nauseous he could hardly stand, but he followed her lead nonetheless. He laid back down on his bed and stared worriedly up at the cavernous ceiling, wondering how the hell he was going to play this whole nasty situation off. He couldn't make amends with Potter - not even if his life depended on it. Other circumstances would never allow it. . .

Did Potter save his life? Why?

No matter how much Draco puzzled at it, he couldn't fit the pieces together. It didn't make sense. Why hadn't he just let him die?

Maybe, Draco thought wryly; maybe it would have been for the best.


	8. -7-

The paper was cool and crisp, and Draco's meticulous script appeared boldly in ink across the exterior of the carefully folded parchment. The paper's edges were somewhat yellow from decay, but the smell of fresh ink strongly lingered upon the mysterious envelope.

Lucius Malfoy's narrowed eyes were trained upon the nameless red wax seal. So, the boy wished to remain anonymous, did he? The wicked man smirked slightly, reading the delicately composed inscription on the back of the brittle paper with a curious twitch of his eyebrow.

_To him, the boy who unknowingly stole my heart._

The glass of freshly poured white wine slipped from Lucius' delicate grasp, and his jaws dropped as a rather womanly gasp escaped his throat.

"Good God," he choked, "my son. . ."

He didn't dare finish his hushed promulgation. He was clinging firmly to denial. His own son, a filthy homophile? He couldn't wrap his head around it. The idea was repulsive and a wicked smear upon the prestigious name of the Malfoy family. His appalled expression abruptly flooded with indignation, and he angrily grabbed his wand from the tea-table beside him and flicked it above the paper. It wouldn't open, and he became more frustrated with every flick of his wand.

The portrait of his father that hung above the mantle scowled down at him, slowly sipping a glass of velvety red wine and tapping his long bony fingers against the crystal glass painted in his hand. He looked as if he might speak, but he reserved his sharp words of displeasure. All Lucius could do was grumble and fuss, his pale face growing increasingly red with every passing minute. How could his son's lacking school-boy bewitcheries and protection spells be so efficient? 

"Darling, are you alright?"

Lucius looked up with a start. His wife, Narcissa, had come into the study, her long black dress brushing the dark, red carpet as she approached her husband.

Lucius sighed and laid the unopened envelope onto her palm. "Read the damn inscription!"

Narcissa's dusky eyes skipped over her son's familiar scrawl, and her expression became softer, unlike her husband's. Lucius rose from his leather-bound chair and leaned against the stone mantle, massaging his temple as if to soothe a migraine.

"It's very plain," he said gruffly above the crackle of the fire, "Even I can't deny the words. I feel humiliated."

Narcissa glanced timidly over at her spouse, his lank figure silhouetted against the orange glow emanating from the fireplace. Tears stung her eyes, and her heart swelled with sympathy for her young son. Draco was still so naive. He was still a boy, yet his father had always retained such high expectations for him, assuming that he might become everything he anticipated him to be. Unfortunately for him, Draco was nothing like his father, although he loved him dearly and aspired to be like him. It just wasn't possible. Draco had always been different from him, although he would never admit it. He was born with a conscience and a respect for life, although his tongue had been sharpened over the years. His young mind had been polluted with terrible notions and opinionated ideas, believing the lie that purebloods were better than other half-blood wizarding families. In reality, they were all the same, united by magic.

"Lucius, it's nothing to be ashamed of. He's our son! We can't just-"

"We very well can, and we will. That boy will marry Miss Trix as intended, or the heirdom will be stripped from him. I will not let our fortune to pass on to some filthy man-slut!" Lucius turned to face his wife, fuming. "He might be our son, but he has disgraced us! No one can know about this, or we will be ruined."

Narcissa imagined the scandal, the falsifications, and the misconceptions that would fill the head-titles and the articles on the front page of every Daily Prophet. She imagined Draco cowering from the cameras, wincing with every blinding flash, and she quickly turned and rushed from the room to find a parchment, a quill, and her owl.


	9. -8-

Draco Malfoy focused intently on his breakfast, his gaze never wandering from his untouched plate of freshly toasted bread, melted butter, and brilliantly yellow eggs. He wasn't hungry. He felt nauseous, and sitting in the Great Hall was only making it worse. The smell of waffles and buttered English muffins was making his insides curdle. He fought the urge to vomit as he poked and prodded at his food with his metal fork, his lips curling in disgust.

"C'mon, Draco, eat,"

Draco groaned at the high-pitched, whining drawl of Pansy's voice, a voice that so easily compared to the sound of talons running feverishly down a chalkboard. "I'm not hungry," he said savagely.

"But, Madam Pomphrey said you have to eat to gain-"

"She's such a joke," Draco pierced the egg yolk with the prong of his fork, watching angrily as the yellow puss oozed from the broken skin. "acting all self-righteous! She's not exactly a healthy specimen herself - if you get my meaning."

"Don't be nasty," Zabini joined in, his deep voice sounding threatening. "She treated you very well. You should remember that next time you go off spouting about 'er."

Draco snorted. "Well, it's not like she can turn her nose up at whoever she pleases! She was never very fond of me, that's for sure. If she had it her way, she probably would've let me die."

"I would've," Blaise muttered.

Draco looked up, scowling. Blaise was innocently taking another sip of his pumpkin juice, pretending to suddenly take an interest in Pansy's rant about ineffective healing potions. Draco scoffed. Snarling, he looked down at his plate again, drowning out the thundering voices of the children as he poked at his toast with his fork, tossing it around on his now egg-soaked plate. 

_One bite? Surely it wouldn't hurt. . ._

His lips recoiled, but he bit into the bread. It was dry and coarse, like sand-paper on his tongue, and he gagged, instinctively reaching for his glass of pumpkin juice. Salazar! Even that didn't taste very good! A bitter, coppery tang lingered in his mouth, and Draco's shoulders sagged as he stared dismally down at his unfinished toast.

What had the dementors done to him?

"Lost your appetite, Malfoy?" Someone whispered.

 _Potter?_ The hairs on Draco's neck stood up on end, and his skin tingled. Draco had noticed his empty seat at the Gryffindor table and had mentally thanked the stars for his absence. He'd been hoping to delay a public encounter, but as luck would have it, Harry would purposefully instigate one. Who wouldn't enjoy seeing their enemy squirm with humiliation? Harry Potter certainly wouldn't miss out on that opportunity.

Draco felt several conflicting emotions. His cheeks burned with anger and humiliation, but at the same time, his gut was filled with the flittering wings of fairies. He was touched that Harry would have stooped down from his pedestal to save him, but at the same time, he was also ashamed that he'd allowed himself to _be_ saved. It would have been better for everyone if he had died right then at the doors of Hogwarts.

"What d'you want, Potter?" Draco hissed back. He knew the answer.

"Oh, I don't know," _Weasley_. "a 'thank you' maybe?"

"Shut up, Ron!" _Hermione._

"Of course!" Draco chuckled. "the two of you just had to tag along, didn't you? Wanted to see me get on my knees and kiss Potter's shiny shoes?"

Blaise narrowed his eyes at Draco from across the table, "Oh, look, Malfoy's talking to himself now!"

 _What?_ "Shove off, Zabini, and mind your own business." Draco retorted, glaring at him.

"He can't see me, Malfoy. And now that I know you're feeling like your normal self again, I'm going." Harry's breath was warm on the nape of Draco's neck, making his skin pringle. "Enjoy the rest of your breakfast."

Draco stared wide-eyed at his plate before glancing as casually as he could over his shoulder only to greet the cold stone-wall. He heard scuffling foot-steps, and when he looked down, he swore he caught a glimpse of the shiny toe of Hermione's boot, but he shook it off. 

"Are you feeling alright, Draco? Maybe you should lie down through Potions. I'm sure Professor Snape will understand. He likes you after all." Pansy rubbed Draco's arm consolingly.

"Don't touch me!" Draco spat, batting her clammy hand away, "And no, I'm feeling fine! I don't need Snape to coddle me like a dying toad."

Pansy dropped her pug-like face to her lap, looking hurt. Draco ignored her. He was baffled by Harry's invisible confrontation. What had he even done it for? What kind of pleasure had he gotten out of it? Certainly none worth the trouble, though it was obviously a poorly made invisibility potion. Knowing Ron's inabilities in Potions class, it wasn't surprising. But what was the point of it?

"Oh, mail!" Danika squealed.

Crabbe and Goyle paused fighting over each other's breakfast sausages and looked up expectantly at the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Owls were swooping down from the great blue dome, the sunlight streaming through their outstretched feathers. 

Draco searched the rafters for his old owl, and his face lit up a little. "Oh, Bubo!" he called cheerfully.

The old bird swooped down, wings flapping violently as it clumsily perched itself on the edge of the table carrying The Daily Prophet in its tired beak.

"Thanks, you old fart," Draco stroked the bird's feathers lightly, gazing miserably into it's dilated orange orbs. "Go sleep! You're probably tired. Okay?"

Bubo nipped Draco thankfully on the finger and then took off, soaring upwards into the rafters and disappearing into the blue sky.

"Oh," Goyle squeaked around his strawberry tart, the red jam oozing between his teeth, "Look, look! Says 'ere, the old bohemian wizard-"

Draco tuned him out, squinting into the sunlight as he stared upwards at the familiar owl soaring towards him, dark feathers disheveled from a long, urgent flight. _Ryu?_

"Hey, isn't that the family owl?" Pansy asked timidly, pointing.

This time, Draco didn't say anything. He just nodded silently, confused as the bird settled nervously on the table in front of him, ruffling its feathers proudly. Ryu looked pleased with herself as she stuck out her silvery beak, her breath wheezing as Draco reached out to take the tiny fold of paper from her mouth. 

His fingers trembled a little as he unfolded it, the paper brittle in his fingers, worn from the wind. What was it? Was it from his mother? Father? Was someone hurt? Draco's tongue flicked nervously across his dry lips as his mercury grey eyes finally settled on the tear-stained ink. It was short and abrupt but clear as day. 

_"Dear Draco,_

_He knows. Don't panic._

_Love_

_Mother."_

_. . ._

Draco looked up from the wrinkled parchment, his blood suddenly running cold as he gazed blankly at Blaise's dark hair-line. His heart was beginning to pound inside of his chest, and he could feel his hands begin to shake.

 _He knows._ He thought, trembling.

_I'm a dead man._


	10. -9-

Draco doused his face with the cool water from the leaky faucet, gasping at the shocking sensation as the iciness of it made his cheeks burn. Breathless, he doused himself again, and then he turned the knob and looked up at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He sighed. He looked hideous! Madame Pomphrey had been right to worry. His marble gray eyes were deeply set and rimmed in an almost velvety purple, while his cheeks were sunken and shallow. He looked almost as ill as the dreaded Hogwarts caretaker, old Mr. Filch. . .

But then again, he looked more like a ghost.

It was quiet on this side of the castle, as silent as the grave. Not even the mice seemed to stir as they slept quietly in their nests. Just the sound of Draco's labored breathing seemed to fill the lavatory and echo off of the walls and corridors of Hogwarts. He gagged, his stomach clenching, and he gripped the dripping sides of the porcelain sink for support, trembling weakly. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take! His body was falling apart, and he didn't know what to do. Madame Pomphrey had given him express orders to stay as calm and relaxed as he possibly could over the course of the coming school year. She said it was critical to his health and warned him specifically to get extra rest and nutrition. Draco scoffed. As if his kind of life would permit him anything of the sort! 

"I'm dead," He muttered.

His voice seemed to bounce off of the walls, mocking him. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Just one breath at a time, right? So simple.

But _god_ , what was his father going to do? He couldn't help but worry.

 _He knows_. . .

But, goddamnit! What did she mean by that?! Draco wondered, panicking. Did he know _everything_ , or did he just realize that his son was a "queer?" Draco could handle that much. But if his father knew _everything._ . . if Lucius Malfoy knew just _who_ it was that his son fancied, he doubted that he would be considered a Malfoy much longer. The name would be stripped from him, and he'd be left to find his own means elsewhere, living beneath London in the subways and begging for spare coins in the square. He wouldn't last long out in the muggle world. He knew it. He was only 15, and all he'd ever known was wealth, fame, and prosperity.

Draco heaved again, his muscles spasming. He choked, barely able to catch his breath as he clutched at the sink with his cold, clammy hands and prayed for the dry-heaving to end. Nothing was coming up. His stomach was empty. He hadn't eaten since the day before when he'd been force-fed in the hospital wing, and yet he still wasn't hungry. The thought of food made him sick to the stomach.

So. . . this was going to be how Draco Malfoy died. How splendid! Capital headline it would make for the Daily Prophet. Rita Skeeter would be thrilled! What a tragic story. The wizarding world was very fond of those after all. . .

Draco couldn't breathe. He could feel the blood rushing to his face, and his tongue was swelling in his mouth. He was suffocating. Fantastic!

Something clattered behind him, but he ignored it. He was choking, after all. It was probably just Peeves come to see what all of the rackets were. Draco felt a presence of _some_ kind. He opened his mouth as wide as he could, his eyes burning with tears. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe!

A soft whisper just barely reached Draco's ear, and he immediately felt his lungs inflate with air. He gasped, reeling over the sink clutching at his throat. What was that? Was that a spell he'd just heard?!

"Fuck!" He coughed, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He gulped in air, drawing in long, shaky breaths.

"Salazar, what the hell was that?"

 _Something_ was in the room. It wasn't Peeves. That troublesome ghost was nowhere to be seen. Draco collapsed onto the damp floor and pressed his head against the wall, his eyes wide with alarm as he looked frantically around the room.

"Who's there?" he demanded. "H-hello?" he pulled out his wand and held it out in front of him, his hands still shaking from exhaustion. "I know you're in here, dim-wit, whoever you are!" 

It was silent. Draco sat there uncomfortably, staring tearfully into the empty space in front of him. The bathroom was completely empty, or so it seemed. He was alone. He'd only been imagining things. Relieved and grateful to be alive, Draco sank against the wall, his body going limp, his eye-lids sagging. He wanted to sleep.

 _You can't sleep here, you ninny! Imagine what people will think when they come in as see the Malfoy heir sleeping in the toilet!_ Draco reasoned. He ignored himself, his eyes closing, the voices in his head going quiet. . . He just needed some rest. It didn't matter where.

In the back of Draco's mind, he was aware of the brush of fabric over his skin, and he heard a distant voice, but he ignored it. 

It was just his imagination. He was alone. . . Even though he was lying on the floor of a school bathroom, he wanted to enjoy this moment. Something felt perfect about it, though he couldn't put his finger on it. Maybe it was because, for now, he felt weightless, like a cloud drifting pleasantly across the early September sky.

He would enjoy it. . . because as soon as he wakes up, his nightmare continues - just like it always does.


	11. -10-

_two_ _months earlier_

_"My lord, I do not mean to sound impertinent, but must those . . . creatures. . . accompany us?" Lucius Malfoy asked, glancing ever-so crudely over his shoulder at the dark-cloaked figures trailing ominously behind the entourage of Death Eaters._

_"I'm afraid so, Malfoy," Lord Voldemort replied in a low, crooning voice. "I'm afraid so. If my hand is forced tonight, and I am to make an example of one of you. . ." He smiled meaningfully back at the Dementor's, unaffected by their cold, sapping presence. "My servants will take care of the matter for me quite happily, and dare I say, without question."_

_Lucius_ _swallowed_ _hard, his face taut with fear. His expression just barely mirrored that of his son's terror, who followed behind his father with his oiled blonde head bowed low._

_The Dementors. He could feel them. He didn't want to see them, and he was silently praying that he wouldn't have to. He could feel them in the air, damp and cold on his skin, numbing to the very marrow in his bones. He could feel them worming through his brain, casting a dark shadow over all happy memories like a thick black curtain of despair._

_"Draco,"_

_He moved towards the soft sound of his mother's voice, just barely breaking the eerie silence that had fallen over the group as they walked. He felt her comforting arms snake around his shoulders, and he drew as much comfort from her protective motherly touch as he could. Even though the Malfoys were still within the walls of their own home, there was no comfort. They could just as easily die within these walls as any other Death Eater could. When at the Dark Lord's mercy, safety is nothing but an illusion of the mind._

_The cold, stale breath of a Dementor tickled the back of Draco's neck, and he shuddered, every individual hair on the back of his neck standing on end._ _He quickened his pace anxiously, almost walking straight into another Death Eater._

_"Draco, do be more careful," Lucius hissed, glaring down at his son._

_"Yes, father," Draco whispered back._

_The ghostly swarm of dark-robed men gathered inside of a very poorly lit room, the only light being a single candle sitting on a tea-table in the middle of what appeared to be one of the three parlors in the Malfoy mansion. Draco hung back, aloof from the group, keeping strictly to the shadows. The Dementors stood even further back, pressed up against the walls as they watched the silent assemblage with ever-hungry eyes from beneath their overhanging hoods._

_The Death Eaters all formed a circle in the center of the room, leaving several empty spaces where either dead or missing men would have stood, followers who had abandoned their Lord in his time of need. Draco felt a growing sense of dread as his father gruffly signaled him over. Terrified, he reluctantly took his place in the circle._

_The silence only grew louder as Lord Voldemort's glowing red-eyes scanned each man's face, committing them to memory. Draco's heart raced as those deathly eyes fell upon him. His skin prickled with fear._

_"Draco Malfoy," the Dark Lord crooned, an evil grin tugging at his thin lips. "What a pleasure to have you here with us this evening."_

_"It's a pleasure to be here, my Lord," Draco said as calmly as he could._

_"Are you proud to finally join my ranks? Your father has long awaited this day._ _"_

_"Yes, my Lord."_

Voldemort chuckled and glanced once more around the circle before looking back at Draco. "He doesn't seem _excited. Maybe it's just me." He chuckled again, almost playfully, but Draco had heard the venom laced in his voice._

_Draco held his breath._

_"Are you proud to be a Death Eater?"_

_"Y-yes, my Lord."_

_All eyes were fixed on him. His blood was running cold, but his heart was racing inside his chest. He caught his mother's eye from across the circle, and she smiled at him encouragingly from beneath her hood._

_"I am proud, my Lord." He said stiffly._

_Voldemort stepped closer, and Draco bowed his head, focusing instead on the frayed edges of his robes._

_"I see devotion in your eyes," Voldemort hissed, his long, boney fingers delicately gripping the boy's chin and tilting his head upward. "Yes, I see devotion. I see unwonted affection and loyalty that does not belong to me or the cause." His glowing red eyes were like a burning coal in the dark room. "Where does your loyalty lie, Malfoy? You must choose here and now, or I'll have to be rid of you." Narcissa let out a strangled cry. "Draco, wi-"_

_"With you, my Lord, with you!" Draco's voice cracked, but he didn't care. "With you. . ."_

_"And not Harry Potter?" The dark wizard spat fiercely._

_Suddenly, Draco could feel the silence. He could hear his heart hammering in his ears, and he could feel the fear as it made his body quake, but nothing was more intimidating than that eerie, god-awful silence._

_Harry Potter. The boy who lived. The Chosen One. Fucking scarhead. . . The boy with the jade green eyes._

_Draco opened his mouth to speak, but it was sudd_ enly dry.

_"As I suspected," Lord Voldemort said grandly, with the hint of an oily smirk on his pale gray face, "Your allegiance lies elsewhere."_

_"M-my Lord, really, my loyalties are with you-"_

_"Lies, lies," The dark lord interrupted dismissively, "Dementors!"_

_Draco's face blanched with fear. Dementors?_

_"My Lord, I beg you-"_

_"Mr. Malfoy, I appreciate your unwavering allegiance to me, but I'm afraid your son has not followed in your footsteps. He has slipped off his designated path, and for that, he must make amends."_

_Narcissa was sobbing into her gloved hands while her husband stood idly by, watching helplessly with a look of true fear on his lined face._

_Draco felt it. The oppression. He could feel the life being drained out of him. Everything seemed cold and distant, like a surreal nightmare, his vision clouded with tainted memories. All at once, he felt alone. All in one moment, he loved Harry so much that it hurt, and he hated his father so much he could've screamed. He hated himself. He hated himself for being just like his father. He hated himself for loving someone who would never love him back, and he hated himself for being such a fucking prick. No one would miss him if he were gone. He would be nothing, but a distant memory left forgotten in a photo album locked away and coated in dust, or a half smirking face in a faded moving picture. He was nothing. He would always be nothing. He was. . . empty._

_"Stop, don't do this! That's my boy!" Narcissa Malfoy wailed, "Please, my Lord, I beg you."_

_The Dark Lord growled, "Very well, but take this as a warning. I will show no mercy the next time. If this becomes a reoccurring situation, the Dementors will have their way with him."_

_Draco's lungs suddenly flooded with air, and he collapsed weakly to the floor. Everything. . . was black._   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. -11-

Harry sighed in relief as he watched Draco slowly drift off to sleep on the stone floor of the boy's lavatory. Careful not to make any noise, he shrugged off his cloak of invisibility and pulled off his Gryffindor robes, crouching to drape them over Draco's slumbering figure gently.

"There you are, you idiot," he breathed, as he gingerly reached out to comb back Draco's wildly strewn blonde hair. It was matted and laying in tangled heaps over the Slytherin's feverish brow, and Harry frowned in concern. _Why isn't the git getting any better?_ He wondered distractedly.

He knew he shouldn't worry. He kept telling himself that the Slytherin was none of his concern and that he might as well drop his investigation and leave the boy to take care of himself. He could, couldn't he? Harry groaned. He could never forget about Draco as long as he was in this condition. He just couldn't. He was still a human being, not to mention Harry's curiosity was getting the best of him just like it always did. Why was Draco so ill? What had caused all of this? He had to find out.

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his sleep, and Harry jumped a little. He let out a sigh of relief before hesitantly tucking his robes more securely around Draco's motionless body.

"Harry?"

Harry jumped to his feet and whirled around, nervously pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Ron was standing at the door, looking at his friend with a confused expression.

Great. Just great. Why did it always feel like either Ron or Hermione was tailing him? It didn't matter where he went! To the bathroom to take a quick leak, to his dorm for some sleep, or to the astronomy tower for some much-needed personal space, Ron and Hermione were close behind him. He was beginning to feel suffocated, though he would never admit it.

"Harry, what're you doing?" Ron asked shiftily. "Why is Malfoy sleeping on the floor like a vagrant?" He narrowed his eyes. "And why were you-"

"Leave me the fuck alone, Ron," Harry snapped, glaring back at his friend. "I followed him here because whatever it was he got in the mail really piqued my interest. He was as white as a ghost when he read it. . ."

"Oh, yeah. It was the family owl. But why is he sleepin' on the floor? Uh, not that I'm complainin'."

There was a knot in Harry's chest, and it just kept getting tighter. "Shut it, Ron! I don't want to wake him up. Let's get to Potions, okay?"

"Bloody hell! Fine. . ."

Harry chanced one last glance back at Draco slumbering on the bathroom floor before following Ron out into the twisting corridors dimly lit by flickering torches. He kept thinking that he should go back and retrieve his robes, but the more he thought about it, strangely enough, the less he cared. He grinned to himself when he imagined just how confused the chap would be when he finally came to.

Halfway through Potions class, and halfway through brewing one of the most putrid smelling potions Harry had ever concocted, Draco Malfoy finally staggered into the dark dungeon classroom. His hair was madly disheveled. One side was pressed flat against his head, while the other side was standing up completely on end. Harry looked down into his steaming cauldron, smirking to himself as he stirred the lumpy green liquid. For the first time, Draco didn't look like a sneering snob or a prig. He looked like a first-year who had gotten lost in the corridors and walked into the wrong classroom.

"Oh, dear," Hermione whispered to Harry over her cauldron, as Draco hastily made his way to his seat. "He looks even worse than usual. I do hope he's been following up with Madame Pomfrey."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Why on earth do you care?"

"Look, Ron, Malfoy might be a foul, loathsome creature, but he's still a person, and no one should suffer like that. Just look at him! He looks awful."

"You're too forgiving," Ron mopped the sweat from his brow, shook his head incredulously, and then glared across the room at the blonde Slytherin.

Harry chuckled. "If looks could kill. . ."

Ron snorted back. "I wish they could."

After receiving several derogatory comments from Snape on his potion, after class was finally dismissed, Harry shouldered his book-bag and told Ron and Hermione to go on ahead. They were confused, but they did, so Harry approached the table where Draco was hastily packing up his things.

"Um, hi."

Draco briefly glanced up at him, mercury blue eyes flickering. "What do you want?"

Surprisingly enough, Draco's response lacked malice and seemed rather more timid and fearful than anything. Harry licked his lips. "Nothing. I was just wondering how you were feeling."

Draco paused, looking up at Harry suspiciously beneath his long blonde lashes. "You're. . . checking up on me?" He narrowed his eyes a little. "Why?"

Harry scratched his scar awkwardly. "Well, erm, no reason. Just. . . yeah."

Draco stuffed his cauldron into his leather bag and ran his hands through his matted hair. "Oh, well, I'm fine, I guess. Never better."

"That's bullshit, and you know it."

"Oh, alright. So you really want the truth then?"

"Yeah. I do." 

"Um, alright. I feel fucking disgusting. I feel like shit. Is that better?"

"Much."

There was a brief awkward silence in which Draco licked his lips nervously and shifted his book-bag on his shoulder, glancing longingly at the door while looking a bit pale.

Harry smirked. Now was his opportunity. "By the way," he said nonchalantly, "You wouldn't by any chance happen to have my robes with you, would you?"

His reaction was priceless. It was hard to keep from laughing. Draco's eyes widened significantly, and his face blanched, contrasting vividly with his dark Slytherin robes. His breathing quickened as he began to tug at his tie anxiously. 

"Blimey, those were yours?" he asked, aghast. "But. . ."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned casually over the table towards Draco so that they were only a hairsbreadth apart. "Look, Malfoy, I'm not going to be all secretive about it anymore."

Draco's face paled, even more, looking directly into Harry's bewitching, forest-green eyes. "About what?" he whispered.

"I'm. . . worried, I guess." He stammered, scrunching up his face in frustration. "I can't really explain it. It's just, I've never seen you like this before. No one has. And that day, when I saw you on the train . . ."

Draco swallowed visibly. "What?"

"You looked like a ghost of yourself. Do you know what I mean?"

"Potter?"

The two boys jumped apart, Draco assuming a stiff upright position while Harry tried to shove his hands casually in his pockets.

"Yes, Professor Snape?"

Severus Snape glared down his long, hooked nose at Harry with a snarling expression. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Then get going,"

"Yes, Professor."

Harry shot Malfoy one last meaningful glance before turning tail and heading out of the classroom and into the dark corridor. Strangely enough, he couldn't shake Draco's fearful expression when he saw Snape. Draco had always been the Professor's little pet, so why would he ever be afraid of him? What in the bloody hell was going on?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. -12-

"Potter?"

Draco jumped back almost as if he had been stupefied, the sudden urge to vomit hitting him. He stiffened instinctively and clenched his hands at his sides as he looked up at Professor Snape, his eyes stinging. He was a fucking idiot. How could he have lowered his guard like that? It was Harry's fucking eyes. That's what it was. 

"Yes, Professor Snape?" Harry said a little too cheerfully.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Snape sneered.

"Yes, Professor."

"Then get going."

"Yes, Professor." 

Draco's eyes followed Harry as the boy turned to leave the room, meeting his gaze one last time before he finally disappeared out the door. Draco exhaled a shaky breath and clutched his robes tightly in his fists, waiting for Snape to break the silence only shattered by the sound of Harry's retreating footsteps.

"Draco, kindly explain to me what I just witnessed. Will you?"

"Typical Potter sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. That's all." Malfoy replied, sneering to the best of his ability. "Stupid scarhead." his heart clenched, and he winced slightly.

Snape hummed, staring down at Draco with his dark, beady eyes. "Your father sent me a letter; I will let you know."

Draco's pulse quickened. "He. . . he did?" He moistened his lips.

"Mr. Malfoy has told me to watch you closely," Snape's gaze was burning a hole right through Draco.

Draco squirmed slightly, feeling his hands shake. The urge to vomit was growing stronger. "Oh, r-really?" 

"Yes. Yes, indeed he has. And believe me, Draco. I most certainly will."

Draco could hear his heart racing in his ears, panic making his blood boil and his stomach curdle. He wanted to scream again, and he felt a distinctive lump rising in his throat, making it difficult to swallow and difficult to speak. His eyes were burning, and he could feel a warm liquid begin to flood them, blurring his vision. 

"Watch yourself, Draco," Snape said in his nasal voice.

"Yes, sir." Malfoy choked.

"Now go."

"Yes, sir."

Draco darted out the door and walked hurriedly down the hall, clutching his bag to his chest, the tears suddenly pouring down his face. All he could think about was what a fucking idiot he was. He let his guard down around Harry, and now he had drawn unwanted attention to himself. Could he have been any more obvious?

"Fuck me, fuck me," Draco repeatedly muttered to himself. "Damn it!" He found himself in front of the Slytherin common room, and he rushed in, making a beeline for the dormitories.

It was quiet in the dorm. Classes were still in session, and it was empty. It was peaceful. The green light filtering in through the dungeon windows was oddly comforting. Draco made his way to his bed and sat down on it, dropping his bag dismissively on the floor. He buried his face in his hands, and he had just barely opened his eyes when he caught a glimpse of the dark fold of Harry's robes peeking out from his bag. A tear cascaded down his cheek as he leaned forward and snagged it up, slowly pulling it out into his lap. He looked down at it dismally, feeling his eyes well up again as he remembered Harry being so close, just inches away from him. He could have kissed him. He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed at himself. Not only that, but Harry had said that he was worried about him. Just the thought that the raven-haired boy ever gave him so much as a thought made his heartache longingly. Why did he even care? Harry hates him. He always had, from the moment they met. Was he pretending? But why would he? What would he gain from it? Draco snorted. Nothing. So he wasn't pretending. Back to the first question, then.

Why did he care?

Draco closed his eyes and clutched Harry's robes to his chest, hoping they would make him feel less alone. Somehow, they were comforting. Lying down, still crying softly, loathing himself, he stared at the wall.

-

Harry was late for divination. Again. He could feel every eye in the room training on him, but he ignored it and resumed his usual seat beside Ron by the window. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, enjoying the sultry breeze just barely filtering in through the open window. 

"Harry, what did Snape want?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing."

"Then what did you stay back for?"

Harry groaned and opened one eye so that he could see Ron's round, intrusive face. "I wanted to talk to Malfoy." He replied casually.

Ron scowled.

"C'mon!" Harry huffed. "Look, I don't know why, but I really feel like something's up, and I really want to find out what it is. I can't stop thinking about it."

Ron tore his eyes away from Harry and stared intently into the crystal ball perched on top of their table, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. "Hm. Well, it sounds to me like you're obsessed with him."

"What?" Harry choked abruptly. "I'm not. I'm just. . . curious, I guess."

"Mmhm." Ron hummed sarcastically. He narrowed his eyes and stared even more intently into the foggy crystal glass. "Oh, Professor, I think I see something!"

Harry rolled his eyes and folded his arms around his knees, only just then realizing he had forgotten to get his robes from Malfoy. Oh well. He'd have to ask at dinner. He would have remembered if it wasn't for Snape. . .

"Yes, dear?" Professor Trelawney leaned over their table, looking at Ron through her large spectacles. "What do you see? Tell us."

Ron squinted, his nose crinkling. "Well, erm, I see. . . a face? But, I can't make out who it is yet."

"Be patient, be patient." Trelawney smiled encouragingly, waiting.

Harry watched Ron with sudden interest. Did he actually see something for once?

"Oh,"

"What is it, dear?"

Ron licked his lips and shifted uncomfortably.

"Yes?" Professor Trelawney leaned in ever closer.

Harry frowned. Ron's face had blanched a little.

"I.... see myself."

Harry snorted a little too loudly. "Ron, I think that's your reflection." he retorted.

Ripples of laughter filled the classroom, but Ron didn't seem to notice. He was too focused. Suddenly, he drew in a sharp intake of breath.

"Oh, dear," Professor Trelawney said in an eerie voice. "What do you see now?"

"I see myself, and someone else. . ."

"Yes? Who is it?"

Ron glanced up from the ball and looked at Harry with a hurt expression.

Harry shrugged. "What?"

"Nothing," Ron said quickly. He looked back up at Professor Trelawney with a sheepish expression. "Nothing else. That's it."

Harry watched Ron uncomfortably. Something was different now. Something seemed off. He saw himself? And someone else?

"Who was it, Ron?" Harry asked in a whisper.

Ron avoided his gaze, and Harry had an unsettling feeling that the "someone else" had been him.

"It was nothing."

Harry pressed the subject no further.


	14. -13-

The pecan pudding pie melted in Harry's mouth as he slowly ate, his thoughts trailing off into space as he stared with furrowed brows over the crowded Gryffindor table. He kept thinking about Ron's vision in the crystal ball, Draco's apparent fear of Professor Snape, and of course, as per usual, Draco himself.

The boy's health was quickly diminishing. He was thinner now - dangerously so, and his expression never varied from that sickly, empty look. He was a seemingly blank canvas with sunken eyes rimmed in red. Harry was finding himself more and more preoccupied with thoughts of Draco and his growing illness rather than his schooling. As a result, his grades were rapidly falling. Hermione was mortified, but there wasn't much she could do to help him at this point. He was obsessed with Draco it was driving him mad, and only Ron and Hermione could see it. Harry remained oblivious to the obvious.

"Harry?" Hermione jogged his shoulder roughly. "Harry, you have to listen! I'm trying to help you, so will you please pay me some attention and stop stuffing your face like a Thanksgiving turkey?!"

Hermione's agitated voice broke Harry's concentration, and he jumped a little, looking at her questioningly over another spoonful of the pie.

"What? "

"Oh, you heard me," Hermione groaned. "I was trying to help you with the essay Professor Flitwick gave us, but. . . you zoned out. "

Ron rolled his eyes. "Nothing new there, "

"Shut it, Ron. Anyway, Harry, if you don't get this done, you'll have the lowest grade in the class. If you don't pass this year, you'll be held back. "

"Stop worrying, Hermione! It's not even mid-year exams yet. I'll be fine. I need to get to the bottom of-"

Hermione was growing impatient. "You'd better hurry it up then because I'm about done trying to help you. Ronald, too. You. . . don't even join in on our conversations anymore. You stare into space like some kind of lunatic."

Harry suddenly felt a wave of guilt. It was true. Not only had he been neglecting his schoolwork, but he'd also been neglecting his friends. His best friends. 

"You're right, " he muttered guiltily, looking from Hermione to Ron, "I haven't been good to you. I'm sorry. "

Hermione looked baffled by Harry's apology. She simply shared a glance with Ron and then took a reluctant sip of her pumpkin juice. Harry sighed and looked back down at his plate, prodding his sliver of pie with his utensils.

"Look, I know I've been acting strange lately, "

"You don't say, " Ron quipped.

"But, for some reason, I... I can't stop thinking about Draco. "

Hermione gently laid a hand on Harry's arm, anticipating what he was going to say, and Ron simply stared at Harry with wide, narrowed eyes. 

"I just. . . I just can't get him out of my head. I can't think about anything else. "

Hermione squeezed his arm. "I know, Harry, I know. "

"Why is he so sick? Why has he been acting so odd? What was that letter he got all about? "

Hermione's shoulders fell, and she released his arm and said sourly, "Oh, I don't know, Harry. Maybe he actually has a life of his own. Does that ever cross your mind? Stop wasting yours by sticking your nose in his. "

Harry looked up from his plate to glare at her. She talked to him like he was a little child, and it was beginning to wear him thin.

"Oh, Harry, sometimes I'm amazed at how nieve you are. I really am. " Hermione stood up, grabbed the books she had been reading at the table, and stormed away.

Harry glared after her. "Y'know what, Ron? She's driving me insane. I don't know if I can handle her anymore. "

"Fuck you! "

"Ron? "

"Hermione is just trying to help you. You're at your lowest, Harry. We both see that. You're drooling over that twit, you barely talk to anyone, you're sneakin' about, and you don't even care that your best mate just wants you back. What happened to playing Quidditch together or teasing the first years just for the hell of it? You've been a right royal git, and until you get your priorities straight. . . "

"Ron, listen, I'm sorry, okay?! " Harry hissed, "I'm sorry. Really. "

Ron looked untrusting. "If you're really sorry, then stop paying any attention to soots like Malfoy. Pay attention to the people that actually care about you."

With that, Harry watched Ron leave the table and follow Hermione out of the Great Hall. His shoulders sank, and he suddenly felt miserable. They were right. What had he been doing? Malfoy didn't deserve his attention. . . but he couldn't help myself., could he?

Harry glanced over his shoulder for the millionth time at the Slytherin table. Draco had his head down on the table, and Harry felt a wave of compassion. Even if Malfoy was a slimy git like Ron seemed to think he was, Harry couldn't turn his back on him. He would continue searching for answers, but this time he wouldn't turn his back on his friends. He could divide his attention, couldn't he?

At that moment, Draco lifted his head, looking a bit unsettled. His eyes scanned the room uneasily, but then they met Harry's gaze. Harry's stomach clenched, and although he knew that he should look away, he couldn't. He held Draco's poignant gaze unflinchingly, feeling his breath come uneasy. Wings. His stomach felt like it was filled with wings. He swore Draco's face flushed as he turned away, but Harry couldn't know for sure. Then Draco looked up again, and Harry knew. There was something in the air between them, but he couldn't put a finger on it.

He denied it.

Discomfitted, Harry pushed his plate away and left the Great Hall searching for his friends, leaving Draco in shattered confusion.

What just happened? Something felt. . . different.

From afar, Professor Snape looked on. Although Potter couldn't see it himself, Snape now knew.

He knew. 


	15. -14-

His pale grey eyes fixed on Harry's broadening shoulders, Draco Malfoy watched the raven-haired boy dreamily as he left the Hall. He smiled to himself, feeling the happiest he'd felt in months. Harry had looked at him: _really_ looked at him. He could still feel himself trembling. He could still see Harry's emerald eyes locked on his from across the room, remembering how his heart had begun beating wildly in his chest. Enemies and friends never looked at each other like that. Never.

Draco shook his head. "No, Draco, no. You're imaginin' things."

"Draco? "

Draco looked down to see Pansy's hand on his, and he immediately pulled back, revolted by her touch. "Oh, I'm fine. Sorry, " he muttered weakly, barely glancing at her. He slowly rose from the table and almost lost his balance; his legs were shaking furiously.

Pansy grabbed his arm, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, I'm bloody sure!" Draco replied a little too hastily.

Draco started walking, following in Harry's footsteps. Crabbe and Goyle rose to follow him, but he shook his head, and they happily sat back down to help themselves to more pudding.

It hurt to walk. He could feel the dwindling muscles in his calves and lower thighs burning as he walked. It took all of his strength just to put one foot in front of the other. He would have to remember to start using his walking stick, he thought, grimacing in pain. Still, following Harry's retreating figure, he limped through the Great Hall. He didn't know what he was expecting, but at the moment, it felt like something was pulling him toward Harry - he _had_ to follow him.

"A moment of your precious time, Draco?"

Draco froze, his lungs seizing up as his heart jumped into his throat. "P-professor Snape? " he choked.

"To my office, Draco. It seems we have something rather important to discuss. "

Draco shivered at the Professor's tone and glanced longingly after Harry.

"Is there somewhere you need to be?" Professor Snape asked coldly, staring the young Slytherin down. "Am I imposing?"

"N-no, Professor. "

"Very good then, " and Snape, his black robes flowing dramatically behind him, led Draco out of the Great Hall.

\---

The chair Professor Snape had instructed Draco to take extremely uncomfortable, and he shifted uneasily, breathing shakily through his parted lips. Snape sat at his desk facing his student, hands folded in front of him, his oily face filled with self-satisfaction. Draco felt sick with dread. He had a nagging feeling that he knew what he'd been called here for.

"Just as the Dark Lord suspected, " the man began coldly.

Draco trembled and hastily looked away from the Death Eater, his eyes burning as tears filled them. His throat tightened, and he sobbed lightly. He was in denial. This had to be a nightmare.

"W-what are you talking about, Professor? " Draco asked unconvincingly.

Snape smirked knowingly. "Draco Malfoy, I think you know what I am referring to. . . "

"N-no, Professor,"

"DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A FOOL?"

Draco stiffened at the sound of the Death Eater's raised voice, his tears now pooling down his cheeks. He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. What was he supposed to say? What could he say? If Snape knew like he seemed to, he was as good as dead. Draco roughly dried his cheeks with the sleeves of his robes, leaving them red and burning.

Professor Snape stood behind his desk, and Draco watched him with fear as he leaned over the desk towards him, face hard like stone.

"Answer me, " he whispered, his soft voice laced with venom. "Now. "

Draco felt his face crumple as the tears now flowed freely. "N-no, sir, I d-do not take you for a f-fool. "

"Good, "

The Professor's black robes rippled behind him as he slowly circled around the desk and leaned instead against the front of it, staring down at Draco with a menacing glare.

"So tell me exactly how long this has been going on between you and Mr. Potter, and how this. . . thing. . . began. "

Draco fearfully opened his mouth to speak, hiccuping slightly between breaths.

Snape quickly held up his hand, "But please spare me the gory details. "

Draco's eyes fell, "S-sir, " he said slowly before gulping in air. "Harry. . . Harry isn't to blame. It's. . . it's just me." He wrapped his arms around himself for comfort. "He doesn't love me. "

For a moment, it looked as if Snape almost pitied him, but that moment ended quickly.

"Go on,"

Draco sucked in a breath and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "He hates me, " he sniffed. "He's hated me from the moment we met, but. . . but I didn't. At first, I don't know... I guess I was just infatuated with him. I didn't even realize it, and I was in denial. When I finally understood what I was feeling, the feelings had already grown, and I didn't have time to deal with it. I didn't know what to do! I can't help myself! You have to understand, Professor! There really is nothing I can do. How do you stop loving someone? "

"You don't, " Snape answered softly, staring at the wall with hazy eyes as if he were lost in a distant memory.

Draco looked up at the Death Eater silently and then stared down at his folded hands, watching his fingers as they trembled.

"True love lasts forever, " Professor Snape continued, "it's a disease that feeds off of you until there is nothing left."

"So, what am I supposed to do about it, Professor? I don't want to die! The Dark Lord will kill me if he hears. I-"

" _Why_ do you love him, Draco? " Snape interrupted.

Draco sucked in a breath as his heart skipped a beat in his chest, thoughts of Harry filling his brain.

"He's brave, " he began softly, his face burning with shame through his hot tears. "He's the opposite of me. I'm a coward." He laughed softly to himself. "

"He's not brave. He's an arrogant child who thinks himself better than his elders." Snape said stiffly. "But do go on. This might be entertaining."

Draco wanted to defend Harry, but he bit his tongue and went on. "He's smart, he's witty, he's forgiving and sometimes a little too curious for his own good, but I like that about him. " he paused for a second, staring blankly at the dungeon floor. "He's . . . gorgeous. His eyes.. . they're beautiful. " Draco whimpered softly and cradled his head in his hands. "But now what, Professor? Are you going to tell my father? Please don't! "

Professor Snape looked down at Draco with a shocked expression, as if he'd been struck. For a moment, the man didn't speak. He simply watched Draco as he cried, shoulders heaving. It almost reminded Snape of himself. . .

With that thought in mind, he whispered, "He has his mother's eyes."

Suddenly, he understood. . .


	16. -15-

Harry watched Ron's head of bright red hair bob up and down as he walked, the boy's long, lanky legs taking unusually long, fast-paced strides. Harry groaned as he struggled to quicken his pace to match, but his shorter legs refused to cooperate.

"Ron! " Harry breathlessly called after him, "Ron! C'mon! Don't be such a girl's blouse about it! We need to talk. . ."

Ron stopped walking and glared over his shoulder at Harry. "So says you. I think we've done enough talking for one night. "

"Don't be daft," Harry persisted, "you said you wanted me back, Ron. You said I was your best mate. You wanna play Quidditch again? Let's do it. Let's wipe the slate clean and start over. Please? I won't let you down again. I promise. "

Ron narrowed his eyes at him, his white lashes catching in the torchlight. Looking suspicious, he slowly asked, "Do you mean it? "

Harry nodded eagerly, still trying to catch his breath.

For a moment, Ron just stared back at him warily, his tongue in his cheek as he mulled it over. He couldn't say no. They'd been best friends since the first year, and neither of them was willing to lose each other.

Ron sighed hugely and shut his eyes as if he were making a birthday wish. "Oh, alright. Fine, but you have to start paying less attention to ferret. Okay? "

"Okay, " Harry replied hesitantly.

"Alright then."

Ron put his hands in his pockets and waited for Harry to catch up before starting to walk back to the Gryffindor common room, an awkward silence filling the 12-inch gap between them. Nonetheless, the silence was better than nothing. Harry was grateful for his forgiveness. He knew he had been neglecting him and Hermione for the past several weeks, but he hadn't realized just how much. He'd been so absorbed in Draco's-

"Password? "

Harry blinked and looked up at the portrait of the fat lady., his train of thought lost.

"Licorice wands, " Ron answered in one breath, sounding tired.

"Very well. Come in!" The fat lady sounded tired, too.

The portrait swung open, and Harry crawled inside after Ron.

"Why are you so obsessed with Malfoy anyway?"

"What?"

"You heard me. "

"I thought you wanted me to forget about him. "

"I seriously doubt that's going to happen anytime soon, "

The Gryffindor common room was still empty. Dinner hadn't been over when they had left. Everyone was still eating, so naturally, the two boys could talk freely. Ron expected an honest answer.

Harry met his friend's questioning gaze and shrugged feebly, suddenly feeling nervous. "I don't know," he said, baffling even himself. "I don't know whether it's because I want to find out what he's up to or if it's because I'm genuinely concerned for him. I'll be damned if it's the last one. I never dreamed I'd ever give Malfoy a second thought, but here I am. " _Giving him more than a second thought._

"It's just. . . you'd never abandon us for him, would you?" Ron suddenly asked tentatively.

"What kind of question is that?"

Ron collapsed into one of the armchairs by the fire and pretended to take an interest in a book lying on the side table next to it. "It's just a question, " he replied innocently.

Harry sat down in the armchair beside his and stared into the fire, "Well, no. I wouldn't. "

_Or would I?_

Harry shook his head and loosened the collar of his robes, rubbing his eyes tiredly. _I just need sleep._

"Are you alright, Harry? "

"Yeah, just fine. "

He wasn't fine. He was panicking. In the Main Hall, when he was looking at Draco, he had felt something, and it was a feeling he knew well. He'd previously acquainted it with Cho Chang, but that little spark of interest had long since died, along with his interest in girls and dating. He remembered it all too well, though...

The dryness of his mouth, the unsteady rhythm of his heart, the fluttering wings in his stomach. . . it wasn't something he was supposed to feel around Malfoy or any other boy.

Maybe he had just imagined it. . . Oh, who was he trying to kid? No one can imagine feelings as distinct as that. But then again, there was no way he could be interested in Malfoy, was there? Harry shriveled in his chair and chewed unconsciously at his nails as he stared expressionlessly into the orange flames.

Draco. . . with his pale, pointed face and sickly, sunken eyes? Harry chewed harder.

"Harry? "

"What? "

"Merlin's beard! " Ron groaned, "just go to bed, mate. "

Harry nodded and hoisted himself out of the sunken armchair before padding back to his dorm. Silently, he laid in bed and stared wide awake at the ceiling, his thoughts still wandering back to Draco.

Despite himself, he wondered what the Slytherin boy was doing. He wished that he knew. Harry mentally slapped himself. Was he really thinking along those lines? Was he really feeling what he thought he was feeling? He couldn't. . .

He was straight. . .

Harry frowned and rolled onto his side, twisting the blankets around himself as he stared at Ron's empty bed. He wished he could talk to someone about it. Let it off his chest. At the moment, he didn't know what to think. He couldn't be sure what he was feeling.

But then again, he was sure. Harry's head was starting to throb. This was all too much. He just wanted it to stop. He'd rather duel Voldemort right here and now rather than admit out loud what he was thinking. He was determined not to admit it. 

"I'm gay, " he groaned into his pillow. Suddenly, he sat up with a start, his green eyes wide with shock. "Shit! I'm gay. . . "  
  
  



	17. -16-

On Fridays, classes always felt particularly long and dull, but especially on this one. Potions class was quiet, besides the occasional whisper or giggle, which was immediately followed up by a sharp reprimand from Professor Snape. After giving the class that morning a curt greeting and a brief lecture on Pepperup potion, he set them to work on reading, giving direct orders to "stay focused" and not to "bother" him. Upon seeing Harry, he'd given him a strangely melancholy look that had left him feeling unsettled and a little uncomfortable.

Positioned stiffly on his stool, elbows on the table, Harry stared blankly at his open Potions book, mind wandering distractedly over the well-worn pages. His eyes flickered across the classroom to Draco's empty seat. The Slytherin was absent again. Harry wondered what his marks were for the class, and he sighed dismally, causing Hermione to glance up at him briefly over her own book.

Where was he?

As if prompted by Harry's own thoughts, the door squeaked open, and a handsome boy with white-blonde hair slowly walked in, his leather school bag tucked securely under his arm. Harry's eyes followed him longingly as the Slytherin took his seat, whispered a half-hearted greeting to Pansy, and listened attentively as she repeated the class assignment to him. He looked different today - strangely well-rested. The swelling of his eyes seemed to have gone down a little . . . Harry stared. He wasn't thinking. He was just looking. It was innocent, right?

Draco opened his own book and was about to start reading when his own eyes skittishly wandered. Harry quickly looked away, feeling embarrassed. He hated this feeling. He hated that he knew what it was. His mouth felt dry, and he felt his stomach tying itself into knots, but he looked back up again, only to briefly meet the Slytherin's cool gaze. The two boys' eyes widened almost at once, and they both turned back to their books. The words all seemed cluttered together. Suddenly, a thought hit him. . . He felt a smile tugging at his lips, and he checked to make sure Hermione or Ron wasn't watching before he pinched a page between his fingers and slowly began to pull. He soundlessly tore it out. He drew his wand out of his sleeve and discreetly pointed it at the paper.

 _"Delensio,"_ he whispered, and immediately the ink began to disappear off of the page, leaving a blank sheet of parchment. Harry smirked and casually dug through his bag for a quill. There was a muted scratching sound as he wrote, but it went unnoticed. His excitement mounted.

_You look good today, mate - Harry._

Trying not to overthink it, he sat down his quill before he could change it and began to fold the paper. He clumsily folded it into a unicorn shape and then pointed his wand at it again.

_"Anamari!"_

The unicorn fluttered and shook his paper head.

Harry smiled broadly. Again checking to make sure no one was watching, He flicked the paper and then watched as the unicorn leaped off of the table and galloped silently across the room towards Draco. Feeling a bit nervous, he returned to his book, now staring at where the page had been. . . He chanced a peek and felt a smile tug at his lips again. Draco met his gaze and tentatively smiled back at him over the paper, his cheeks tinged a rose pink.

Harry silently waited for an answer and was thrilled when he felt something fall into his lap. It was a paper bird. He beamed as he unfolded it.

_Thank you, Potter. I dare say it was all that bloody Pepperup. . ._

Harry's grin broadened, and he swore he saw Draco's blush deepen when he looked back at him. The Slytherin was actually smiling. It wasn't a smirk or a self-righteous crooked twitch of his lips. It was completely and beautifully genuine. It stole Harry's breath away, honestly. Relishing this new-found confidence and feeling that he had a grip on something, Harry wrote another note on the crinkled, tired-looking parchment.

_Well, maybe I should start slipping extra into your pumpkin juice, along with a little drop of something else, perhaps._

Harry folded it into the shape of a miffler this time and watched it skitter across the dungeon floor. Draco held back a smile as he slowly scooped it up off of his leg and unfolded it beneath the table. Harry watched the Slytherin's mercury eyes crinkle as he read. He glanced briefly at Professor Snape, and he froze when he realized that the man was looking directly at Draco with a blank expression, though he obviously knew what was going on. Harry felt something fall into his lap again, and he gulped slightly. Snape's coal-like eyes fell on him, but he did nothing. Instead, much to Harry's surprise, he simply turned back to the scroll he was reading.

Frowning slightly as he wondered what punishment Snape was silently planning for him, he unfolded Draco's response.

_What did you have in mind?_

Harry grinned and met Draco's gaze from across the room. He winked.

-

Draco felt his breath catch in his throat, and he coughed abruptly. Did Harry just wink at him? What in the bloody hell was that supposed to mean? He couldn't decide whether Harry was joking about poisoning him or slipping him some other bizarre tonic. Blushing furiously, Draco buried his face in his book and ignored Pansy's concerned questions. Still, he smiled. Were they actually officially on speaking terms? Were they friends now? He couldn't say. He could only silently hope. Being friends and loving him was better than being enemies and loving him, though it would make other things harder. Draco glanced up to see Professor Snape glancing shiftily between him and Potter, and he blushed all the more, quickly bowing his head and pretending to read.

_You look good today, mate._

Draco blushed harder. It felt as if Harry had finally noticed him. The barrier between them had finally fallen, and Draco felt happier and freer than he had in a long time.

They could be friends now.


	18. -17-

Fighting the urge to look up, Draco smiled down at his book; his pale white cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink. All of the inky black words were blurred together as he slowly flipped through the pages, blending to form nothing but completely meaningless sentences and phrases. He just smiled. His cheeks began to ache, but he couldn't have cared less. His heartfelt lighter than feathers. He felt like he was soaring through the clouds on his broomstick. Draco wasn't familiar with this feeling. He'd dreamed of this feeling, wondering what it was like, and now that he was experiencing it, it felt like a dizzy dream. 

Was he dreaming? Perhaps he'd drifted off on the desk and was currently drooling on his Potions book like a bloody fool in front of the whole class, and more importantly, in front of Harry.

Secretly, beneath the table, Draco pinched himself. He opened his eyes and chanced a glance across the room only to meet Harry's gaze head-on this time. The boy flushed visibly and glanced away. He was leaning on his elbow, and his head was in his hand. He was fidgeting with his mess of jet-black hair, twirling the tousled curls around his finger as he pretended to read, the torchlight reflecting off of his wire glasses and dancing on the wall.

He was so gorgeous. . . Draco thought wistfully, his heart filling with longing. Harry looked up at him again, and in an instant, their eyes met. This time, Harry didn't glance away, and the air felt as if it came alive between them. Draco held his breath and refused to blink, afraid that when he did, this perfect moment would suddenly end. Harry's gaze was unwavering but soft, non-invasive and gentle, and yet also somehow suddenly shy. His rosy lips were slightly parted, his cheeks were flushed ever so lightly, and his eyes shone like priceless stones in the dimly lit dungeon classroom.

The shrill ringing of the bell broke the tension, and suddenly, it was over. Draco jerked upwards as if he had awoken from a drunken slumber. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat to compose himself as he assembled his things, slamming his book shut and shoving it nervously into his shiny, black leather shoulder bag. 

"You look so much better today, Draco," Pansy Parkinson piped up amidst the room full of babbling students, interrupting Draco's scattered and confusing train of thoughts. Her big round eyes were studying him strangely. "Did Madame Pomphrey give you some new treatment or something?"

Draco cleared his throat again and gestured wildly for a moment, struggling to find words, his heart still racing in his chest. "Oh, um, uh," he squeezed his eyes shut and snapped his fingers, concentrating. "Ah, yes! The Pepperup Potion! The bloody Pepperup! Been takin' two spoonfuls every day. Bloody disgusting it is, but it sure as hell does the trick."

"I have got to give it to her," Pansy shrugged as she slung her bag over her shoulder and straightened her mused robes. "that old witch knows her magic."

Draco hummed bemusedly in agreement and fumbled around in his bag.

"You coming?" Pansy asked.

"No, just go on. I think I misplaced my wand." Draco lied, glancing across the room again towards Potter, who was now completely and utterly alone at his table. 

"Alright, but only because you have regained the ability to walk." Pansy quipped with a smirk as she turned to follow the rest of the class out into the crowded hall.

"Oh, piss off, Parkinson!" Draco called after her, sneering at her distastefully before shiftily looking back over at Harry. 

Harry's nose was buried in his book, a tangled mess of his raven hair hiding his face.

Taking a deep breath, Draco leaped at the opportunity and shouldered his book-bag, and began to saunter across the aisle towards him slowly, his stomach tangled in knots. He felt wonderfully and horribly sick all at once. 

"Potter," he said cheerfully, and he grimaced. It sounded strange rolling off of his tongue without a sneer. 

Harry looked up at him over his book, his lips perking up again. "Hey," he whispered breathlessly.

Draco lost track of his words again, forgetting himself in Harry's eyes for the millionth time. 

"As usual, Snape almost put me to sleep with his lecture." Harry joked, grinning adorably up at Malfoy. He stood up and tucked his book securely under his shoulder. "Today, I have no recollection of what the bloody hell it was about. Have you?"

"No, not the slightest." Draco giggled like a girl and instantly turned as red as a tomato. He cleared his throat deeply. "No, not at all."

Harry's smile broadened, and he looked down at the floor for a second. "Hey, so, uh, what class d'you have next?"

"Alteration," Draco held his breath, wondering if Harry was going to do what he was hoping.

Sure enough, Harry asked, "Mind if I walk you, Ferret?"

"No," Draco felt like his cheeks were splitting. He was smiling like a love-struck fool. Could he possibly be any more obvious? What in Salazar's name was wrong with him? He was a down-right git.

"Alright," Harry nodded and awkwardly pushed up his glasses. "Lead the way, your Majesty." he nudged Draco forward with a grin.

"Come along, then."

Draco felt as if his heart were skipping beats. He had to be misreading things. . . right?

Harry walked closely at his side, shoulders ever so delicately brushing. Each time, he felt like he might suffer an aneurysm. Suddenly, in one wonderful moment, calloused fingers brushed against his, and in that instant, he felt as if he were living a dream. Pulse racing, he closed his eyes and licked his lips as he gently brushed back, nudging him slightly with his knuckles, taking a chance.

Harry's fingers tickled the back of his hand as it bumped against him and then delicately wove their fingers together in the folds of his robe. He tried to swallow the happy lump in his throat, but he couldn't. He gave Harry a sideways glance, beaming. Harry was smiling the goofiest smile, and that made Draco laugh out loud.

"What?" Harry demanded.

"Nothing,'" Draco shook his head and turned to look into Harry's eyes as they walked. "You're just. . . gorgeous."


	19. -18-

"Good afternoon, Madame Pomfrey," Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly at the round little witch as he walked into the infirmary, hands folded behind his back, his half-moon spectacles nearly tipping off of his long, narrow nose. "How's our young patient doing?"

Madame Pomfrey was hovering over a cot, wiping a patient's forehead with a damp cloth. She looked up at the Professor for a moment to give him a sad, skeptical look. "There has been no change in his condition as of yet," she sighed. "He hasn't so much as stirred even a little. Sir, I'm worried that he'll never wake up."

"I feared as much," Dumbledore moved to the end of the bed and looked down at the tiny figure tucked into it. "His parents will be coming soon to try and collect him. We are not to let them take him home at all costs. We both know what caused this, and the situation will only get worse if he returns home. If it happens again, he most definitely will not make it."

"I don't see how it could get any worse, Professor." Madame Pomfrey whispered, lowering her tone. "He hasn't woken up in a month."

Dumbledore hummed in acknowledgment and then looked up at Madame Pomfrey hopefully. "Has Harry stopped by at all recently?"

"Every night, Professor."

The Headmaster took a step closer to the bed and looked down into the boy's sunken face. "When Narcissa and Lucius arrive, I will be here. We must keep Draco safe. Now, if you'll excuse me. . ." Dumbledore turned, his long, garish gown swishing behind him as he walked out of the infirmary leaving Madame Pomfrey looking completely baffled. 

-

Harry walked down the east corridor heading to DADA with Hermione and Ron, his eyes red and swollen. Ron and Hermione were chatting excitedly about the upcoming Quidditch game against Hufflepuff, and Harry was trying to seem enthusiastic, but he couldn't. As they were walking, they spotted Dumbledore standing in front of their classroom. 

"Harry! There you are," he called. 

"Wonder what this is about," Ron groaned.

"Ron. . ." Hermione scolded him like she always did.

"One moment, guys," Harry waved them on and then wove his way through the students to the Headmaster. "Yes, Professor. . . ? How's Draco?" he asked immediately, hoping for good news.

Dumbledore ignored his question and stared down at him blankly. "Walk with me, Harry,"

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Um, okay."

They walked a short way until the halls had cleared up, and then Dumbledore stopped walking and turned to gaze out one of the windows towards the Black Lake, the surface of it sparkling blindingly in the afternoon sunlight. Harry stood still and waited for him to speak with bated breath. 

"Madame Pomfrey and I have agreed on what caused Draco's condition."

"You have?" Harry ejaculated. "What is it? Is it deadly? Will he be alright?"

Dumbledore turned to Harry, his long white beard practically glowing in the window. "Harry, we believe Draco was subjected to a Dementor's kiss."

Harry froze, his entire body suddenly cold. All the little hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood up on end, and his heart stopped. "Dementors? But. . . How? I thought Draco was just sick. I mean, he looked better, and then he just. . . collapsed. . . ."

"I believe that this is what happens when a Dementor only succeeds in taking a portion of your soul, Harry, "Dumbledore explained. "This has never happened before, not even in Azkaban."

Harry swallowed hard and tried to quell his fear. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that perhaps losing half of your soul was worse than losing all of it. "Professor . . . Will he wake up?"

Dumbledore suddenly smiled, the corners of his periwinkle blue eyes crinkling. "That's up to you, Harry."

"What?"

"Harry, I am old. I might not be as strong and youthful as I once was, but I do think myself wiser. I know you have feelings for Draco, and I know he has feelings for you." Dumbledore smiled down at Harry kindly. "I have lived a long time, and although I have never seen an unsuccessful Dementor attack and am completely oblivious as to what it may do to a body, I know from experience, as do you, Harry, that love is the most powerful magic there is. I suggest you use it, Harry." Dumbledore patted Harry on the shoulder and then turned to walk away, his gnarled hands folded behind his back. "Good day, Harry."

Harry was speechless. He watched Dumbledore disappear down the corridor and then leaned against the stone wall, pressing his forehead against the cold, frost-coated window pane. 

Dumbledore knew. Of course, he did. He always seemed to know everything in the end. Always.

-

That evening in the Great Hall, Harry relayed the information Dumbledore had given him to Ron and Hermione, leaving out the extent of their conversation, of course. Afterward, they both looked just as confused as he had. 

"What the hell?" Ron spat, bits of chicken flying from his mouth and onto the table. Hermione glared at him in disgust. "What does that mean? It seriously has never happened before?"

Harry nodded and reluctantly took a bite of his mashed potatoes. "That's what Dumbledore said."

Ron shook his head and groaned. "Damn! The luck of that bloke."

Hermione asked. "If it's never happened before, why is Dumbledore so sure he'll wake up?"

"I don't know," Harry said. He wasn't lying. He truly didn't know. Dumbledore only had guessed. 

Hermione looked suspicious.

"What?" Harry asked her.

"Oh. . . Nothing."

Harry broke eye-contact and stared down at his plate, suddenly aware of how sweaty his palms were.

"I'm tired. I think I'm going to pop into the infirmary and then head off to bed. Goodnight, Hermione."

Hermione seemed to be staring right through him. "Alright," she said softly. "Goodnight, Harry."


	20. -19-

Draco's face looked ghostly white against his pillow, and the outline of his frame beneath the sheets seemed so thin Harry wondered whether he actually had any limbs left at all.

Harry pulled up a chair and sat down, shoulders slumping.

Looking down at Draco, he felt his stomach tie itself into knots, and he swallowed hard, his heart aching. Draco's skin had faded to a colorless gray. His face was bony and gaunt, and the circles around his eyes had darkened until now they were almost black. His hair looked more white than blonde as if all the life and color had left his body with his soul. 

The sick boy lying in this bed looked nothing like the boy Harry thought he knew. He was helpless and frail and weak, stripped of his malice and pompous airs. His face was expressionless, lacking the famous sneer that Harry had secretly loved so much. It lacked life. . .

Anxious, Harry inched closer, keeping one eye on Malfoy while he delicately reached for the Slytherin's pale hand. Taking it gently in his, he felt with the other for a pulse. 

He felt nothing. Harry's stomach dropped sickeningly. There was no pulse. His skin was ice cold to the touch.

"Madam Pomfrey!" He shouted loudly, his voice cracking. "Madame Pomfrey?!" His voice boomed in the cavernous room, but no one came.

Harry felt his eyes burn as tears filled them. He felt again for a pulse, but it was hopeless. There was nothing. Harry threw himself on top of the body, pressing his head against the Slytherin's shallow chest. Still, he heard nothing, not even so much as the faintest of heartbeats. The room was silent, and all he could hear was the sound of the air rushing through his ears and the sound of his own panicked breathing and his heart hammering against his rib-cage.

"Draco?" he whispered, trembling. "C'mon, Draco. Wake up!" He shook him violently. His frail body was limp like a rag doll. 

"Madam Pomfrey!" He screamed. Somehow, his voice seemed far away and distant, as if it were someone else's. 

Footsteps and voices echoed down the corridor. Harry clutched Draco desperately, gripping his hand so tightly he thought he might have been crushing it. He told himself he was wrong. Draco was alright. Draco was fine. He had to be. Things between them couldn't end. It had only just started. . .

"Potter, step aside."

Harry leaped up and stepped back, trembling as he watched Madame Pomfrey lean over Draco and pull out her wand. It transformed into a sort of stick-like stethoscope, and she placed one end over Draco's chest while she placed the other to her ear. 

Harry held his breath.

Madame Pomfrey's face darkened, and she looked up at Harry with sad eyes. "He's gone, Harry. . . He's gone."

Harry inhaled a sharp breath, and suddenly he felt as if his cousin Dudley were sitting on his chest. His heart felt as if it were being crushed, and he struggled to fill his lungs with air, suffocating as his throat constricted. 

"No," he cried, "no. It's all wrong."

Madame Pomfrey bowed her head silently. "I'll get Dumbledore," she said.

Harry nodded and listened to the sound of her retreating footsteps before immediately kneeling beside the cot. He retook Draco's cold hand and pressed it to his lips. 

"Draco," he sobbed, "why? Why couldn't you hang on for just a little longer? We would've found a way. Dumbledore's brilliant! He would've thought of something. . . he would've. . ." Harry squeezed his eyes shut tight and cried. He climbed up onto the cot and sat for a moment, staring down at Draco's sickly face. His heart twisted and ached and felt as if it were exploding. It was a horrible feeling. 

Somehow, Draco still looked beautiful. Harry thought. He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his robe and then leaned in. He pinched his eyes shut, teardrops falling like rain as Harry tenderly kissed Draco's lips. It hurt. It hurt. They were cold and dead and lifeless, and it hurt. This was not how he had imagined it. He would never have imagined this. 

He was supposed to get better. . . He had been getting better. 

Harry buried his face in Draco's white pajamas and took a shaky breath in. They smelled like him. 

"I love you," Harry said huskily, his throat tight. "I always did, I just. . . I didn't know it." He whispered it again. "I love you, Draco."

The air was cold. His nose was runny and red, and he could barely breathe. His glasses were fogged up, and he could barely see. . . but he could still feel, and he swore Draco's weak, delicate fingers squeezed his hand.

Harry jumped up and stared at Draco in shock. "Draco?!" he cried.

Draco's blue, sunken eyes slowly and fluttered open, and he spoke. His voice sounded weak and husky, but it was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever heard. "Potter,"

Harry laughed joyously, "Yes, yes, it's me. I'm here." He squeezed Draco's hand tightly and kissed it, his tears still falling. "I'm here, Draco."

"T-thirsty," 

"Oh, water, water! Yes, water." Harry stammered instantly. He pulled out his wand and aimed it towards the pitcher sitting on the bedside table. "Accio!" 

Harry lifted his head and held the pitcher to his lips, careful not to tip it too much. Draco drank greedily, his hands trembling where he gripped harry's hands on the pitcher. 

"There, there, not too much. That's it," Harry chuckled, "Slowly."

Draco finished, and Harry set the pitcher down.

"Harry," Draco breathed, weakly reaching out for him, just barely brushing the ends of Harry's robe with his fingertips. 

Harry quickly sat down next to him again, grinning broadly, his piercing green eyes glowing. "What is it?" he asked, kissing one of his hands again. He couldn't stop himself.

Draco took a shaky breath and managed a weak smile, his eyes cloudy. "Say it again? Please?"

Harry leaned in and pressed his forehead to Draco's, closing his eyes. "I love you," he whispered.

He heard Draco suck in a breath and felt him tighten his grip on his robes as if he were clinging to him for dear life. "I. . . I-I. . . " Draco stammered, "I love you, too, Potter,"

Harry was beaming through his tears. It was magic. All of it was magic. 


	21. -20-

_One week later. . ._

In the purple, early morning light, Harry sat knees to his chest in the Gryffindor tower window, a pile of opened notes and pieces of paper lay scattered on the floor beside him. He was tapping his wand impatiently against his knee, staring out the open window into the sky as if he were waiting expectantly for something. 

He was.

A large, fierce-looking owl suddenly appeared from around the tower and flew clumsily in through the window, landing roughly on Harry's knee, talons digging into his skin through his pajama bottoms.

"Ouch!" He hissed, glaring angrily at the owl. "You are definitely spiteful. Makes sense." He glanced nervously around the room.

Ron was drooling on his pillow, Neville was snoring, and Seamus was sound asleep. Harry let out a sigh of relief and then smiled broadly, turning back to the expectant owl and pulling a rolled-up piece of paper out of its short beak. He replaced it with his own, watched as the owl flapped out the window, and then he eagerly unfolded his note. 

_Do you realize we've been sending owls to each other all night? I can still scarcely believe it! I haven't slept a wink. Madame Pomfrey will be very displeased. . . Harry, I do believe you are taking a serious toll on my health. I'm supposed to be on the mend, but if I don't get enough sleep, you'll be walking me right into my grave! Perhaps that was your plan all along, scar-head! I have uncovered your plot._

_It won't work, Harry. You see, misery is what's been killing me, but you make me feel overwhelmingly happy; therefore, your plan of action has been foiled._

_-Sincerely, Ferret_

Harry smiled broadly. He flipped the note over only to discover another juvenile doodle on the backside. This one poorly depicted Harry riding his broomstick into the Whomping Willow, which had been given an evil, laughing face. Harry was a caped stick figure, and the only thing that distinguished him was the huge round glasses and, of course, the lightning scar, which was made out to be much bigger than it really was. 

Harry chuckled. He loved the doodles. Draco was definitely much more infantile than he had thought. Harry could tell from the loopy, nearly lop-sided scribbling that Draco was on the verge of falling asleep. Harry would let him. 

It was Saturday morning. He had the weekend to catch up on his sleep and his homework. He needed to study. He had fallen so far behind in the past few months that Hermione had nearly given up on assisting him. Thankfully, she was devoted to her friends and would never allow Harry to fall behind if she could lend a hand. 

Still smiling, Harry gathered up his pile of notes, hid them in one of his suitcases, and stashed it back under his bed. Feeling wonderfully content and blissfully happy, he finally laid down in his bed. He took off his glasses and set them on his bedside table, and then he curled up with his pillow and closed his eyes.   
  


Still, he couldn't sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about Draco. . .

Things had been different lately. Voldemort had barely crossed his mind, and although he was aware that nothing had changed, that the Dark Wizard was ever on the move, it somehow felt more distant. . . less dangerous. 

For the past week, he'd been dividing his time between Ron and Hermione and Draco. He was with Hermione and Ron from morning to evening, but he was usually off to the infirmary after dinner in the Great Hall. Harry would even collect Draco's homework from his Professors and then bring it to him at the end of the day. On top of that, he would take as much time as he could before curfew to assist him with it. Most of their time together was spent giggling and ogling at each other. They hardly got anything done, but somehow neither of them cared. Harry felt as if he didn't have a single care in the world. He had never felt so free before, not even on his broom. 

"Harry,"

Someone jostled his shoulder, and Harry awoke with a start. Ron grinned down at him.

"Blimey, you look awful," he chuckled. "You get any sleep, mate?"

Harry grinned back and sat up in his bed. "Hardly," he replied. "You going down for breakfast?"

"Yeah. You comin' with?" 

Harry nodded and reached up to rub his eyes before he dragged himself up and clumsily got dressed. He fidgeted with the button of his jeans and then staggered behind Ron to the Great Hall. 

It was horribly bright. Harry felt blinded the moment he walked into the cavernous room. His eyes burned, and he blinked back tears from the pain as he sat down across from Hermione at the Gryffindor table. The room was nearly empty. Only a few students were scattered at a few tables. Everyone must have been sleeping in.

"Good morning, Harry!" Hermione greeted him cheerfully as she looked up from her copy of the Daily Prophet. "Oh, Lord, Harry, did you sleep at all?"

Harry smiled. "No, but it's alright. I feel fine. Better than fine, actually."

Hermione looked skeptical, but she shrugged. "Alright, as long as you're fit enough state mentally to study, it doesn't matter. You still have heaps to catch up on."

"I don't envy you, Harry," Ron stated as he sat down and began to pile his plate with food. He took a bite of sausage and laughed. "Mr. Flitwick alone gave us enough work to keep us busy 'til Christmas, so you should have a jolly old time."

Harry grinned over his pumpkin juice. "I will, Ron. Thank you." 

Hermione glanced towards the door with a small smile. "Well, Harry, it looks like your new friend is up and about again."

"Been given a clean bill of health now, have we. . ." Ron mumbled, following Hermione's gaze with a wary eye.

Harry felt his smile widen gleefully, and he almost jumped out of his seat. Draco had walked into the room and immediately met his gaze. They shared a small smile, and then he began to hurriedly walk over to the empty Slytherin table before he could be seen. Harry watched him longingly.

Hermione nodded towards him, "Call him over, Harry."

Harry beamed. "Really?"

Ron groaned. 

Harry looked to him, hopefully for approval. Ron rolled his eyes and said drearily, "Why not?"

Harry glowed. "Okay! Cool!" he twisted around to look at Draco. "Malfoy, you sorry git, over here!"

Draco looked confused. "What?"

"C'mon!" Hermione echoed, waving him over. Ron gave her a confused look, but she ignored him.

Hesitantly, Draco stood and slowly walked over.

"Sit," Hermione told him, smiling warmly.

Draco slowly lowered himself onto the bench beside Harry, who beamed back at him. 

Draco looked at Ron, who looked right back at him warily. Nervously, he extended his hand.

"Truce, Weasley?" he asked, waiting awkwardly.

Ron hesitated a moment before giving him a sort of half-smile and taking his hand at last. He smiled and nodded, "Alright. Alright, truce."

Draco smiled triumphantly and then looked down at his plate, which had filled itself. "Oh, Salazar. . . What in the bloody hell is that?" he asked, gesturing towards an odd, wet, brownish lump in the center of his plate. "That is the most disgusting thing I have ever seen in my life."

Ron snorted. "Other than yourself?"

"Ronald!" Hermione squealed.

Draco chuckled and shook his head. "No, it's alright. I deserve that one. Yes, other than myself, Weasley."

Harry had something to say that he would have liked to say out loud, but he held his tongue instead, blushing down into his lap. 

Draco carried on. "I mean, look at that. If I didn't have an appetite before, I most certainly do not have one now." he sneered in disgust. 

Hermione giggled. "Yes, I don't even know what that is, honestly."

"I dare you to taste it," Harry grinned devilishly.

Draco directed the sneer towards Harry instead, and Harry felt his heart skip a beat. "No, that's repulsive." The sneer changed into an amused smile. "I would rather feed myself to a mountain troll."

"Do it!" Harry laughed. "Please, you need to eat anyway. Madame Pomfrey would be very "displeased.'" He said pointedly, quoting Draco's words in his note that morning. 

Draco smiled tautly. "Fine, but you owe me 3 silver sickles if I eat it all."

"Deal, Malfoy."

They shook hands, and Draco looked back down at his plate. "Oh, god," he sniveled, and then he hesitantly picked up his fork. He slowly shoveled up a small forkful and then brought it to his lips. "Look at what you've down, Potter. My blood is on your hands."

"Quite the dramatic, aren't you?" Harry chuckled. 

"Hardly!" Draco licked his lips and finally tasted. He wrinkled his nose and pushed his plate as far away from him as possible. "I think that's what they feed the prisoners in Azkaban," he said thickly.

Harry and Hermione laughed. 

"C'mon, 3 sickles!" Harry urged him, laughing.

"Make that 10," Draco gagged. "No . . . 20."

"You're robbing me blind!"

"I'm absent for one week, and this is what they start feeding us?" Draco exclaimed.

"Fine, don't eat that, but please eat something, Malfoy." Harry squeezed Draco's hand beneath the table, and they shared a flushed smile. 

Draco pulled back his plate. "Fine, I will. Does it all taste like that?"

Ron shook his head. "Blimey, no! Eat the sausage. It's heavenly!"

This time, Draco looked seriously sick. "No . . ."

Hermione chimed in. "The eggs are good."

Draco swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "N-no. Um, never mind. . . I think I'm going to be sick."

Harry's smile vanished, and he looked at Draco concernedly. "Here, um, have my toast. You have to eat something. C'mon."

Draco nodded, "Alright. Ok."

"Thank you," Harry gave him a friendly pat on the back and a little squeeze. "Thank you."

Hermione handed him her pumpkin juice. "Here, drink this. It should help with nausea."

Harry gave her an appreciative look. 

"Thank you, Granger," Draco said sincerely. 

"It's Hermione," Hermione replied with a smile. She caught Harry's eye and nodded towards him. Harry blushed and nodded back. 

She was definitely catching on. . .

Beneath the table, Harry felt Draco brush his hand and gingerly weave their fingers together. He smiled softly and glanced sideways at the Slytherin. He was sneering down at his plate.

"Disgusting," he muttered. "Fuck." 

"Don't think. Just eat." Harry urged him. 

"Alright," Draco groaned. "But I'm not going to enjoy this."


	22. -21-

"Harry, what if other people see?"

Draco Malfoy and Harry were standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch later that beautiful Saturday afternoon. The sky was big and blue with a few scattered clouds, and the sun was shining down through the stands onto the fading, Autumn grass. It was the perfect day for flying.

Harry grinned as he climbed onto his broom, shaking his head. "Calm down, Malfoy. It's alright. There's no one here except Ron and Hermione, and Ron is a completely clueless bugger, so we'll be perfectly fine."

Draco looked suspicious. "What about Hermione?" he asked tentatively.

Harry looked down the field towards her, where she was standing with Ron. He just sighed. "Well, I'm pretty sure she already knows."

"Of course she does, that nosy little-"

"Draco," Harry warned him.

"Right, sorry. I was only going to call her a-"

"No."

"Fine."

Draco threw his leg over the broom and first held onto the back of Harry's jacket. Then, with some hesitation, he slowly snaked his arms around him instead, holding on tight. 

Harry smiled softly, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. "Okay," he breathed. "You ready?"

"Born ready, Potter."

"Alright then," he leaned forward. "And we're off!"

And they shot skyward, zooming over the Quidditch pitch and into the sky. Draco tightened his grip and rested his head on Harry's shoulder, feeling the cold Autumn air stinging his cheeks and rushing through his now disheveled hair. He couldn't help but smile. He felt light, and happy, and free, like a bird. 

"Wooohooo!" Harry shouted as loudly as he could, laughing. 

Draco smiled and closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his face.

Harry balanced them out at a slow, steady pace several feet beneath the cloud-line, but it was close enough that Draco thought he could almost reach up and touch them. 

"You're an excellent flyer, Potter," he complimented the Gryffindor, still holding onto him. "You really know your way around a broom."

Harry chuckled. "Well, I'd say that that's high praise coming from you, Mr. Malfoy."

"It is. It really is." Draco agreed, beaming, his mercury blue eyes twinkling in the sunlight. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you mean it? The other day?"

"Mean what?"

Draco swallowed hard, trying to put his anxiety into words. "When. . . you said you loved me in the infirmary." he fidgeted with the flap of Harry's coat pocket nervously. "It's just, you know, I've been thinking about it, and I don't know. It feels weird to say it now."

Harry slowed the broom to a stop until they were hovering over the lake, and he turned his head to meet Draco's worried gaze. 

"Draco," he said softly. "I meant it. I truly meant it. I could never say it if I didn't."

Draco's face brightened. 

"I love you, "Harry said, his voice raspy. 

Draco felt like he'd lost the ability to breathe. The whole world felt as if it had gone out of focus, and the only thing he could see was Harry's lips and his forest-green eyes. Without giving it so much as a second thought, Draco reached out to cup Harry's face in his hands as he leaned forward to press his lips against his. 

They were dry and rough and chapped from the wind, but they were Harry's, and Draco felt as if his heart were soaring above the clouds. This was the first time he'd kissed Harry since that night in the infirmary, and it was everything he'd ever wanted. If he could imagine what perfect was like, this was it. This was most definitely it.

Harry's nose lightly brushed against his, and Draco softly stroked his cheek and then slid his hands into Harry's wind-blown raven black hair. It was coarse and curly but soft all at once. It was exactly how he had imagined it would feel. 

Reluctantly, Draco broke the kiss and pressed their foreheads together. Harry's eyes were closed as he caught his breath.

"I love you," Draco breathed hoarsely. "I love you more than anything. I always have. Since I met you."

Harry laughed happily and smiled his goofy smile, reaching up to hold onto Draco's shoulder for support. "I love you more." 

"Hey, Harry!" 

The boys quickly broke apart, and Draco wiped the moisture from his lips and instead held onto the back of Harry's jacket. 

"Hey, Ron!"

Ron bobbed suddenly into view on his rickety old broom, his pale, freckled cheeks a cherry-apple red. Hermione was sitting behind him, clinging onto him for dear life. She looked terrified.

Ron grinned crookedly. "You up for a race?"

Harry grinned devilishly back. "Where to?"

"Hagrid's, of course!" 

"You're on, mate!" 

Hermione piped up quietly, her voice quivering a little. "I don't think this is a good idea, Ronald. I really don't LIKE THIS-" And she broke her sentence off with a scream as they took off and streaked across the sky towards the castle.

-

At dinner, when Draco let go of Harry's hand and began to walk to his table, he felt his heart sink in his chest and ache longingly. He couldn't be away from him - even for a moment. 

"Bye, Harry,"

Harry saw Draco's sad eyes, and as they parted, the Slytherin could see the worry immediately cloud the shorter boy's youthful face. 

"Hey, wait."

Draco turned to face him. "Yeah?"

"You alright?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper, leaning in close to Draco.

Draco swallowed hard. "I hate leaving you." he scoffed at how pathetic and whiny he sounded. Ashamed, he turned his back on Harry and retreated miserably to his table, eyes fixed on his black sneakers. He hated himself. . .


	23. -22-

Draco still could not compel himself to believe that any of this was real. Was he still unconscious? Was he still dying on a cot in the Hogwarts infirmary? If he was, he didn't mind. Because here he was, walking side-by-side with Harry Potter himself through the halls of Hogwarts. It didn't matter if any of it was real. It didn't matter if the warmth of Harry's hand was a figment of his imagination because whether or not it was, he was still the one holding it. 

It felt real; ultimately, that was what mattered the most. Draco felt happy. He felt perfectly content for the first time in years. He finally had what he had been desperately longing for, and now that he did, all of his previous concerns were melting away like the snow in early spring. 

Draco jumped slightly at the sound of his name, lifting his head with a start as he looked up in confusion. He shook the thoughts from his head with a toss of his silvery blonde hair. "Sorry, what was that?" he muttered with an apologetic smile.

To his right, he heard Harry chuckle softly and give his hand a slight squeeze.

Hermione's curls bounced gracefully over her shoulders as she turned to smile amusedly at Draco. "The game tonight, silly," she teased. "Slytherin against Gryffindor, remember? Are you back on the team yet?"

Draco smirked and turned to catch a glimpse of Ron's hopeful expression. "Sorry to disappoint, Weasley, but I won't be playing. I know you'd love to see me get clobbered, but I can scarcely get on my broom, much less fly it," he then added gloomily, "without smacking into a tree."

Harry squeezed Draco's hand comfortingly beneath his robe. "It's fine, Draco," he chirped, the sunlight glinting off the wireframes of his glasses. "You'll be up and on your broom again before long, and we'll face off against each other again next season."

Draco shook his head dismissively and leaned in to whisper in Harry's ear, "I don't want to." 

Harry smiled instantly, a warm blush stealing onto his cheeks as the corners of his eyes crinkled. "Good. Neither do I," he muttered back.

"Will you two blokes stop whispering to each other already? It's _way_ weird," Ron groaned, wrinkling his nose in disgust and shaking his head.

Draco and Harry dissolved into giggles as the foursome loped up the moving staircase together, surrounded by their excitedly prattling classmates. 

"You sound like a bunch of girls," Ron grumbled moodily, rolling his eyes slightly. He flung his bag roughly over his shoulder and jogged ahead of the snickering trio, weaving his way through the tightly packed body of young scholars.

Hermione sighed heavily and gave Harry a meaningful glance, shuffling closer to her friend's side. "Harry," she whispered urgently, "you need to tell him. And soon."

"But you know Ron," Harry responded, "he'll freak!" 

"He might, but it also might make him feel better. He thinks you're replacing him, Harry. If you tell him the truth, he'll know it's . . . different. You understand?"

Draco groaned. "He's such a pansy."

Hermione shot Draco a frosty glare, gritting her teeth. "You're not helping."

"Sorry,"

Harry seemed anxious. "Look, Ron's my best mate. He always has been. It's just that I don't think he'll be very accepting of," he gestured meaningfully between himself and Draco. "us."

They reached the top of the stairs, and the mismatched triad began to follow the assemblage down a narrow, twisting corridor. As Harry and Hermione continued their intense debate, Draco felt his stomach drop sickeningly. Something wasn't right.

His mercury gray eyes darted up and down the passageway, searching the mob anxiously to quiet the apprehensive voices in his head. And then, he saw him . . . .

A tall, familiar figure, wearing a black waistcoat and carrying an ornate gold cane bearing the Malfoy's family signate.

"Draco, what's wrong?"

He'd gone white, his eyes wide, lips pressed tightly together. His chest felt tight. 

"It's my father," he muttered just barely under a whisper, his feet fixed to the stone floor.

Harry, alarmed, followed Draco's gaze unblinkingly. "Fuck," he hissed, squeezing Draco's hand tightly as he pulled the Slytherin protectively into his side.

Hermione stared at the man in confusion. "What's he doing here?" 

Draco shook his head violently, his throat constricted. "I don't know," he gasped, panicking. "He shouldn't be here. Something's wrong."

Mr. Malfoy was standing at the end of the gallery, his tall, daunting frame towering over the students teeming past him into their classroom, barring the doorway into Transfiguration. 

"He's talking to McGonagall," Hermione surmised, observing the man intently. "Whatever their discussing seems to have aggravated her. She looks worried, doesn't she?"

Harry nodded and gave Draco's hand another squeeze, trying to calm him.

"He's leaving," Hermione announced with a sigh of relief. "C'mon, let's talk to the Professor."

Harry, still clasping Draco's hand tightly, followed Hermione down the corridor to Professor McGonagall. Her aged face was lined with worry as she watched Lucius Malfoy stride quickly around the bend, maddened determination marking his steps.

"Professor, what's going on?" Harry asked abruptly, following the older woman's gaze anxiously. "What's Malfoy doing here?"

McGonagall looked down at them, her watery green eyes looking unnaturally large through her gold-rimmed spectacles. She looked at Draco with a dark, troubled expression, and then down at the two boys ' now openly conjoined hands. "He knows. He's here to see Dumbledore. He wants Draco expelled. Quickly, follow him." She motioned for Hermione to enter the classroom. "Come, leave them be. This is between them and Draco's father."

Hermione looked hesitant, but she walked inside, chancing one last anxious glance back at Harry. "Be careful." She warned him.

Harry nodded and then turned to Draco. 

"Okay, are you alright?" he asked, placing both of his hands narrowly on the Slytherin's shoulders. 

Draco nodded weakly, too terrified to articulate his scattered thoughts into words. 

"It'll be okay. I promise." Harry continued. "You won't be expelled, alright? Dumbledore wouldn't let that happen." 

Draco nodded again and gazed up at Harry with glistening eyes. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat painful and unmoving. "I'm scared, Potter," he whispered.

"I know. I know, but it will be okay." He gripped the ruff of Draco's robes and drew him closer, giving him a comforting kiss before sliding his hands down Draco's arms and letting him go. "Let's hurry."


	24. -23-

Draco was terrified. There was no other word that he could think of that thoroughly described what he was feeling. As he followed Harry closely down the winding hall towards the Headmaster's Office, he could feel his heart jumping into his throat and then plunging into his stomach. It was a horrible, sickening feeling. There was nothing like it.

The entrance to the office seemed overly large and imposing now. It wasn't very comforting. The thought of seeing his father, knowing that the man knew his most consequential secret was daunting, and he had hoped that this moment would never come. 

But it had.

The gargoyle statue stared down at Draco, talons raised, ready to pounce, and the Slytherin shrank back in fear.

Harry gave him a reassuring look. "It's okay, Draco. I'm with you."

"Okay," Draco swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay, let's go."

Harry turned to the large, stone statue and said the words, "Sherbet lemon," and the gargoyle jumped aside, revealing a slowly ascending circular staircase. Upraised voices could instantly be heard, and Draco felt his insides contract. He felt like he might vomit. 

Harry stepped back, tenderly taking Draco's hand in his and weaving their fingers together. Draco turned his head to look at him, capturing him in his memory like a photograph. Harry's emerald green eyes looked back at him with silent encouragement, and Draco felt a calm wash over him. Everything would be okay.

Perhaps.

Slowly, Draco breathed in the cold, frigid air and began to walk up the cramped stairway, Harry following closely behind him, still firmly clasping his hand in his. This was it. 

Albus Dumbledore stood against his desk, a calm fury burning in his periwinkle blue eyes like a wildfire. Lucius Malfoy was facing him, back turned to his son, gesticulating frantically while shouting in his most vile, hair-raising voice. It was the voice Draco knew best. He heard it often, as he was a continual disappointment to his father, and the man never neglected to remind him of that fact.

"Draco cannot continue to study here, so long as Harry Potter is under the same roof. I cannot allow it! Do you know how it feels to have your entire family legacy fragmented by your son? That is precisely what is happening, and I can't let it go any further! I don't know whether this thing he has for the Potter boy is a mutual sentiment, but-"

"Lucius, Lucius, you ignorant fool, how can you be so blind? I will not allow one of my students to have their education taken away from them all in the name of family honor. As soon as the Daily Prophet hears that Lucius Malfoy has pulled his son out of Hogwarts, there will be turmoil. Rumors will spread. People will talk. Your reputation and character are at stake no matter what you do. Taking the boy out of school will only draw attention to your family. Is that what you want? I very much doubt that it is."

Harry lowered his voice and attempted to pull his hand away. "Maybe I should go," he muttered hesitantly.

Draco tightened his grasp on Harry's hand until his knuckles were white. "No," he said adamantly, an unexpected strength in his voice. "Stay. Please."

The house-elf, Wilky, was standing quietly in the corner, and it was staring at Draco with wide bulbous eyes. Draco felt his stomach churn, and he quelled the rising urge to be sick as the realization of what he was about to do began to hit him. Dumbledore's gaze shifted away from Lucius at last and descended on the two boys lurking in the shadows, his eyes softening. Lucius gradually turned to face them, his jaw set, his expression hard and cold like stone.

First, he studied their faces, and then he noticed their hands, tightly clasped together, and his expression darkened.

"So," he began thickly, "it _is_ a mutual sentiment."

Draco raised his head with a sudden surge of power, his lip curling upwards into a repugnant sneer. Harry emerged from behind him and took his place by his side, squaring his jaw, his eyes now a stormy shade of green. 

"How did you find out?" Draco demanded softly, his heart pounding in his ears.

Lucius smirked coldly and pulled a folded piece of yellowed parchment from the breast-pocket of his waistcoat. He waved it through the air as if to taunt his son. 

Draco's eyes widened, but this time, not in fear, but rather in anger.

"This. This told me everything," Lucius said in his oily voice. "I have to admit. Your charms were pretty good. I had difficulty opening it, but after a while, your protection spells yielded. Not too bad for a 5th year. I was pleasantly surprised," his tone then darkened, and his eyes narrowed into slits, "until I read what you wrote."

Draco's blood was boiling, his face hot, his hands trembling with rage. "You _took_ my letter?" he shouted, furious. "You took it and _read_ it?!"

Lucius puffed out his chest pompously; his lips curled with malice. "I'm your father. I can do whatever I please," he said. "You are leaving Hogwarts. For good. We are going home, and _you_ , my son, have no say in the matter."

Draco's lips twitched, but the ferocious sneer remained, his eyebrows furrowed deeply. He looked like a rabid dog. "I'm not leaving. I'm not moving a fucking muscle. I'm staying here, with Potter, and _you_ are going to go home," he paused for effect, enunciating his next words very, very clearly. "and _go_ _fuck yourself_."

The moment those defiant words fell from Draco's lips, a deathly silence filled the room. Lucius glared at his son with a mix of both horror and indignation. He was momentarily stunned, speechless. Harry ventured a glimpse at Dumbledore, and he swore he saw the hint of a triumphant grin beneath his long, white beard, the older man's eyes twinkling in the darkened room.

Lucius pointed a long, accusatory finger at his only son. "You will regret those words, boy," he spat angrily.

Draco's sneer did not falter, and neither did his resolve. Harry felt a keen sense of pride and awe. He had seen the Slytherin bitterly angry to the point of violence, but he had never once seen Draco this fierce or this brave. He wasn't just betraying his father; he was crossing the Dark Lord, and that was not a coward's game.

"I apologize, Lucius, but I believe you have overstayed your welcome," Dumbledore said calmly, gesturing gracefully towards the door.

"I suppose I have," Lucius replied bitterly, glaring at the Headmaster with an expression very similar to Draco's. "But I will say one more thing," he approached his son slowly, the floor creaking noisily beneath his feet. 

Draco could feel his father's hot breath on his face, and his nostrils flared with contempt. His blood boiled, prompting his heart to thump madly in his ears, the blood-pumping mass hurling itself violently against his ribs as if it were about to burst.

"You watch yourself," Lucius Malfoy hissed, his voice barely above a whisper, his cold gray eyes staring directly into Draco's soul. The Death Eater proceeded darkly, "Associating with the Dark Lord's one true enemy? Turning your back on your family?" The older man's thin, white lips stretched into a wicked smile. "You may have just sealed your fate, my son."

Angrily, Lucius shoved the wrinkled parchment into Draco's hand and shouldered him against the wall before turning promptly to Harry, scorn written clearly on his face. 

"And you," he chuckled quietly, looking Harry over with malicious eyes. "you will pay alongside him."

Harry met his glare with a grin. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he answered coolly. Draco squeezed his hand tenderly, and Harry felt his chest swell with courage.

After a moment, Lucius finally turned his head and left, leaving the room in silence. 

" _Fuck_!" Draco finally breathed, letting out a giant gasp of air. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. . ." He'd only just then realized that he had been holding his breath. 

Harry freed his hand and stretched his cramped fingers, turning to Draco with a concerned expression. 

"Are you okay?" he asked immediately, "Are you alright?"

Draco nodded breathlessly, his body doubled over, his arms resting on his knees as he gulped in air, the letter he had written just a few weeks prior crumpled up in his fist.

"Draco, you were very brave," Dumbledore reassured him as he left his desk and approached his students, the hem of his robes trailing on the floor behind him. "Very brave indeed. But you must be careful. Even inside Hogwarts, you are in grave danger. Both of you." 

All Draco could do was nod in understanding. Finally, he stood, the room swaying slightly. He looked down at his hands. They were shaking violently. He felt Harry's hand fall gently on his shoulder, and he closed his eyes, focusing on Harry's reassuring touch.

"Better?" The Gryffindor asked softly, rubbing circles on Draco's back.

"Loads," Draco gasped, running a hand through his somewhat disheveled mop of hair. "Thank you for staying with me, Potter."

"Always,"

Dumbledore studied the couple perceptively through his half-moon spectacles, and he smiled beneath his beard. "Together at last?"

Draco felt a small smile spread to his lips, and he gave Harry an affectionate glance and a kiss on the forehead, throwing an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into his side. The Slytherin's hand dangled off of Harry's shoulder, and he reached up to grab it. He beamed up at Dumbledore with a dimpled grin. 

"Together at last."


	25. -24-

Classes finished early that day in preparation for the long-awaited Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and dinner was scheduled to take place directly before the game. Harry ate hungrily, taking long gulps of his pumpkin juice between bites as he scraped the leftovers off of his plate.

Hermione gawked at him in amazement. "I've never seen you with this big of an appetite,"

"Scratch that, I don't think we've ever seen him finish his plate," Ron added briefly, slowly chewing on a buttered dinner roll.

Harry polished off the rest of his glass and set it down on the table with a satisfying _clink,_ roughly dragging the sleeve of his romper across his mouth. "Well, now you have." He pushed back his plate. "I need all the energy I can get."

Hermione brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She folded her arms across the table and leaned in towards Harry, lowering her voice. "Hey, what happened earlier? Before Transfiguration? Is Draco okay? He seemed a tad bit put off during Charms, but I wasn't sure I should bring it up."

Ron's wary gaze shifted between his friends. "Wait? What did I miss?" he asked cautiously.

"Nothing, just a bit of Malfoy family drama. Nothing you'd be interested in,"

"Harry,"

"Not now, Hermione."

Ron opened his mouth to speak but quickly clamped it shut, hurt mingled with confusion and frustration contorting his face. He wordlessly returned to his unfinished plate.

Harry felt a wave of guilt wash over him. Lately, his friendship with Ron had been delicate. If he told him the truth about his relationship with Malfoy, things between them could become even more unstable. On the other hand, he knew that the longer he delayed, the higher the likelihood of the truth completely destroying their friendship. He didn't know what to do.

"Hey, Potter."

Harry beamed at the sound of Draco's voice. He slid closer to Neville Longbottom and patted the empty space between himself and one of the Weasley twins. Draco hesitated for a moment, glancing at Ron sheepishly before squeezing himself onto the bench. His green dress robes stood out like a sore thumb.

"You psyched to lose the game tonight?" Harry asked Draco with a teasing grin, quietly admiring how the light caught in the Slytherin's stormy gray eyes. He rested his elbow on the table and propped his chin up in his hand. "I'm going to wipe the drool off your friends' faces with the business end of my broom."

Draco smiled back, although it lacked luster. "They aren't my friends, so . . . by all means, go for it! The best of luck to you, though I'm sure you don't need it."

"What do you mean?" Harry frowned slightly, taken aback.

Draco grabbed Harry's empty glass, and it filled itself as he raised it to his lips. "In Slytherin, there's a fewer selection of decent blokes to chose from," he took a drink and licked his lips slightly. "They're all complete idiots as far as I'm concerned. You're lucky you're in Gryffindor."

Hermione smiled. "He almost wasn't,"

"Wait. What?" Draco looked at Harry in confusion.

"Well, I was almost sorted into Slytherin. But I asked for Gryffindor."

Draco looked stupefied. "Well, bloody hell, Harry!" He ranted. "Things coulda been a lot easier for both of us if you had just let it 'appen. But no, the great Harry Potter just had to go and meddle like he always does. Blimey. . . what the hell did you know anyway? Weren't you raised in a cupboard? What did you know about Slytherin? I'll have you know, great wizards have come from Slytherin, and not all of them were dark wizards. . . albeit, most of them were. . . Still, Harry, you could 'ave saved me a lot of misery if you had just kept your pretty little mouth shut."

Ron looked up for a moment, his speckled face holding an expression of bewilderment. "' _Pretty mouth_. . ?'" he muttered to himself, confused.

Harry was beet red. He glanced anxiously at Ron and then at Hermione, who was attempting to stifle a laugh.

Draco was oblivious. He took another aggressive drink from Harry's glass, Ron taking note of this silently, his face contorted in disgust. The Slytherin grumbled to himself under his breath.

"Damn it, Harry!" He swore. He glared at the embarrassed Gryffindor with his icy eyes and huffed. "You're an impossible, git."

Harry was beginning to feel indignant, his ears a burning shade of red. "What's gotten you all up in a twist?" 

"I don't know!"

"Well, don't take it out on me!"

"Fine! I love you!"

"I love you, too."

Draco swore loudly, stood up from the table, and stormed out of the hall, leaving Harry completely and utterly mortified as he realized that he had just come out to everyone in the nearby vicinity. Horrified, he buried his face in his arms on the table, his face burning with embarrassment. What had just happened? 

"Harry?" Ron said slowly, processing what he had just witnessed. 

"What?" Harry groaned back.

"Are you . . . are you, uh, and Malfoy . . ?" Ron cut himself off mid-sentence, clearly struggling to work things over in his head.

Harry pulled at his hair and then looked up dismally, trying to ignore the open-mouthed stares he was receiving from everyone nearby. Ron's eyebrows were knitted so tightly together; it looked as if he had a long red caterpillar snaking its way across his forehead. Hermione was trying her hardest not to laugh out loud.

Harry swallowed hard and raked his fingers through his disheveled raven black hair. "Yes, Malfoy and I are. . ," he stammered, struggling to find the right words. "A thing? Dating? Uh, I don't quite know. I'm not sure."

Hermione finally barked a laugh. "Wait, you say 'I love you,' but you haven't even established your relationship yet?"

Harry's ears were burning again. "No, okay?! We haven't exactly had that discussion yet. The whole 'love' thing just sort of slipped out."

"Boys!" Hermione sputtered, laughing, "You boys are utterly ridiculous."

Ron blinked repeatedly, the confusion finally dissipating. "Well," he said, "This explains a lot." 

Harry heard snickering, and he turned to see Fred and George Weasley grinning broadly at him. He felt a sudden wave of dread.

"So, you and Malfoy, eh?"

"Yeah. What of it?" 

Fred and George shared a mischievous smile and then immediately began to sing.

 _"Harry and Malfoy up in a tree_ ,

_K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"_

Harry groaned and clapped his hands abruptly over his ears. "Okay, that's fine," he yelled over the commotion. "I don't know about you, but I have a Quidditch match to get to."

Harry stormed off, Fred and George following close behind, bellowing the muggle song as loudly as they could. Hermione turned to look at Ron, who was drinking his pumpkin juice and staring blankly into space.

"Ron," Hermione jostled his shoulder. "Quidditch?"

Ron choked, juice dripping down his chin. He sprang out of his seat and ran through the Hall. Hermione laughed to herself and shook her head.

Boys.


	26. -25-

The long-awaited Quidditch match ended shortly after it began, with Harry waving the Golden Snitch over his head in triumph and wearing a dazzling smile on his beaming face. Overflowing with Gryffindors, the stands erupted into cheers, and their screams of " _Potter_ " rang out through the stadium. The sound of their joyful voices roared like the thundering of a waterfall, and the angry shouting coming from the Slytherin stands was drowned out in the din.

Draco sat alone in the bleachers, grinning as he watched Harry land his broom, only to be swept up off his feet by a swarm of his classmates. As the scene unfolded before him, he couldn't help but feel a slight pang of nostalgia. He remembered observing a moment nearly indistinguishable all but four years ago, with a younger Harry at the center, the starring player.

A sudden gust of chilly October air made Draco shiver, and he hugged himself tightly, rubbing his arms for warmth. He glanced up at the sky, feeling deeply unsettled by the dark, overcast sky. He felt a coldness creeping up his spine and through his bones, and he fought the urge to panic, distant but vivid memories of dark-robed creatures clouding his mind. 

His chest tightened, his breath becoming labored. He forgot about Harry and the joyful celebration happening below him on the pitch. His fingers trembled as he unfastened the buttons at his collar and struggled to breathe, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he fought to drown out the dark, twisted images shooting through his brain faster than he could conjure the ability to think. 

Forcing himself to his feet, he stumbled through the crowd, shouldering his way through desperately, feeling like he was drowning in the sea of angrily shouting teenagers. 

A peal of thunder shook the stadium, and Draco wrapped his arms around his body, cringing fearfully at the sound, the smell of sulfur filling his nostrils. He walked as quickly as he could, but his legs felt stiff as if his joints were freezing with fear. It was an all too familiar feeling, and his stomach lurched sickeningly.

"I need to hide from them, I need to hide," he mumbled to himself agitatedly through painfully gritted teeth, his eyes welling with tears. He stepped off the platform and onto the grass as the rain began to fall.

"Malfoy!" 

Draco grimaced at the sound of his name, and he looked up to see Harry bouncing towards him through the rainy mist, a brilliant smile on his face.

"Malfoy, I did it!" He laughed happily, waving the snitch over his head and showing it to Draco proudly. "I almost forgot what it felt like."

Another peal of thunder tore through the sky, and Draco felt every muscle in his body contract, his face contorting with pain.

"Draco," Harry said softly, his voice barely audible above the sound of the rain and the shouting. "Are you okay?"

"I need to hide from them," Draco said frantically, "I need to. . . hide. Before they find me." 

He turned to walk away, but Harry grabbed his arm. Draco quickly yanked his arm from his grasp as if he had been stung, and Harry looked up at him in wounded confusion.

"Hide? Hide from who?" He queried, raindrops glistening on his long, black lashes.

Draco searched the sky with wide, fearful eyes. "The dementors," he answered, in a small, trembling voice.

"What?"

Draco hurried away as fast as he could, the ground making watery sloshing sounds with each step, his shoes sinking into the mud as the rain came pouring down even harder. Thunder split the sky with a loud _bang_ , and Draco broke into a sprint, nearly tripping over his robes.

_"Are you proud to be a Death Eater?"_

The castle loomed overhead, so close and yet so far. Rain clouded Draco's vision, running down his face and soaking through his clothes to his clammy skin.

_"Y-yes, my Lord."_

Harry's voice called to him through the piercing sound of the thundering rain, and Draco glanced over his shoulder, losing his balance and stumbling over his own feet, plunging head-first into the muck. He tried desperately to get up, but the ground was slick and damp and cold enough to freeze against his skin. 

_Voldemort's coal-red eyes burned into Draco's soul, and the Slytherin just barely managed to stammer out, "I am proud, my Lord."_

_"I see devotion in your eyes," Voldemort hissed, his long, boney fingers delicately gripping the boy's chin and tilting his head upward. "Yes, I see devotion. I see unwonted affection and loyalty that does not belong to me or the cause. Where does your loyalty lie, Malfoy? You must choose here and now."_

_"With you, my Lord, with you!" Draco's voice cracked, but he didn't care. "With you. . ."_

Harry fell to his knees at Draco's side, Ron and Hermione following closely behind him. His throat constricted, and his heart broke seeing Draco like this. He threw the Golden Snitch carelessly aside and lifted Draco's head into his arms as the Slytherin's limp body thrashed against the ground.

"What the bloody hell's wrong with the bloke?" Ron asked in horror, his mouth agape, his damp hair clinging to his forehead.

"I don't know!" Harry blurted, panicking as he watched Draco's eyes roll into the back of his head. "He said something about dementors and then ran from me."

"Oh my god," Hermione stammered out breathlessly, "Oh my god, okay, I'm going to get Dumbledore. You two stay here. Whatever you do, don't leave his side and try to get him warm."

Ron and Harry nodded, and Hermione ran towards the castle.

Harry watched helplessly as Draco seized in his arms, the Slytherin making strange gasping sounds as he struggled to breathe. He _needed_ Hermione to hurry. He didn't know what to do. He felt tears burning in his eyes, and he tried to wipe them away, but he couldn't. Tonight was supposed to be happy. 

Harry struggled out of his Quidditch robes, doing the only thing he could think of. He wrapped it around Draco's violently shaking body and pulled him close, holding him tightly to his chest.

"You're going to be okay, Draco," he whispered, though his anxiety was plain in his voice. "Everything's going to be alright."

The words sounded strange and foreign even to himself, like little white lies. He couldn't believe them no matter how hard he tried. Nothing was going to be alright. Harry had always been Voldemort's sole focus, but now, Draco had thrown himself into the line of fire, and things would soon get much worse. The boy had already been through so much, how could Harry ask anything more of him? 

Draco's body grew limp, and Harry tremblingly smoothed the boy's hair from his face, looking fearfully into his empty eyes. Draco stared listlessly up at the sky, his pale lips parted, his expression emotionless.

"Draco?" Harry breathed, stroking his cold, wet cheek. "Draco, can you hear me?"

Draco's lips trembled, and his grey eyes were glassy. "Please don't kill me,"

"What?"

"Please, don't kill me," Draco whimpered quietly. "I want to live."

Harry felt as though his heart were breaking.

"I want to live. . ."

Cradling his head against his chest, Harry folded his legs and pulled Malfoy's body onto his lap. "Draco, I need you to listen to me, okay? You're going to live. You and me both. We're going to live, long, happy lives. . . together. When all of this is over, it'll just be me an' you, forever, okay? We'll get a cottage, or whatever you like, and we'll drink tea and eat crumpets, and have friends over. I'll be an Auror, you'll work with the Ministry, and you can come home and complain about how frightfully boring everyone is, and I'll listen." Harry swallowed hard, waiting for Draco to make a sound. He didn't. Harry continued, "We'll go to stupid work parties and get old and ugly together, okay? You're not going to die yet. I promise. I won't let you."


	27. -26-

_"I think it's brave that you get up in the morning even if your soul is weary and your bones ache for rest._

_I think it's brave that you keep on living even if you don't know how to anymore._

_I think it's brave that you push away the waves rolling in every day, and you decide to fight._

_I know there are days when you are feeling like giving up, but I think it's brave that you never do."  
_

-Lana Rafaela

Sitting out in the corridor, outside the infirmary, Harry fidgeted with his wand and stared blankly at the lamp-lit wall. He watched with tired, listless eyes, hypnotized as the shadows danced, the flame in the firepot crackling softly as it flickered in the dark like a bright, burning beacon of hope.

Harry had lost track of how much time had passed since the Quidditch match, and he had no idea how long Malfoy had been in the infirmary. All he knew was that he was tired. He was tired of worrying, tired of fretting endlessly over his crush, wondering whether he would ever get better. Just when he had begun to think that Draco had finally managed to get back on his feet, his condition had only seemed to get worse.

He agonized over the situation, wondering whether he had missed something, some little sign indicating that Draco had been silently suffering alone. He couldn't think of anything. The Slytherin's thin, pallid cheeks had a touch of color in them now, and the dark, purple circles beneath his eyes had vanished, and now, the shimmering silvery depths of them shone with life and new-found joy, a little mischievous twinkle catching in the light now and again.

That little twinkle that Harry adored so much only proved to him that he had loved Draco for much longer than he had previously thought. Every time the prat smirked, Harry felt as though his heart were swelling twice the size in his chest. It was a feeling he didn't quite grasp or fully understand, and sometimes it terrified him, but all it took was a glance or a word, and he forgot that he was afraid.

He wasn't sure what he feared the most. Loving someone he wasn't meant to love, or standing, wand-at-the-ready, face to face with Voldemort himself. He had heard the slanders his whole life. Hell, he had even used the slurs himself, calling others by names that now, he could only use when speaking of himself.

He was in love with a boy. Madly, head-over-heels in love with a boy, and he knew that they would face a heap of obstacles together. Not just Voldemort, but none-the-less, struggles just as challenging and just as painful. But which was the lesser of the two evils? He couldn't say.

There would be prejudice, there would be pain, and there would be others constantly battling them at every corner, trying to tear them apart. Harry was tired of fighting, but he didn't care. What was one more battle if it meant he could spend the rest of his life with the person he loved? What was one more fight?

The ear-piercing sound of a door swinging open on rusty hinges broke Harry's concentration, and he anxiously scrambled to his feet, batting the dust off of his Quidditch robes.

He shyly met Draco's penetrating gaze, and for a moment, they studied each other in silence, and Harry noted the sling supporting the Slytherin's left arm. 

And then, all of a sudden, the Slytherin's lips twisted into a strangely amused smirk. He lifted his injured arm, grinning. "Sort of takes you on a trip down memory lane, doesn't it?" he joked, the corners of his grey eyes crinkling.

Harry couldn't help but smile back, his heart skipping. "The Hippogriff," he chuckled, and then he raised his voice shrilly in a mocking tone, "' _Oh, it's killed me! It's killed me!_ '"

"You'd better shut it before I _slug_ you," Draco teased, narrowing his eyes down at Potter. 

"' _My father will hear about this!_ "

"I'm not joking." Draco rebutted, laughing as he turned to walk down the corridor, his mud-covered robes swirling gracefully behind him.

Harry fell into step with the Slytherin's elegant, long-legged strides, beaming, his troubled thoughts momentarily forgotten. "You exaggerated a lot, from what I remember. ' _Oh, my arm is completely shredded! I don't think I'll ever hold a wand again!_ '"

Draco nudged Harry playfully, "C'mon, quit it!"

"Make me, Malfoy!" Harry giggled, his cheeks flushed.

There it was again. That mischievous twinkle. "If you insist, Potter," 

Harry gasped, his lungs deflating from the impact as Draco aggressively shoved him up against the corridor wall and filled the gap between them; Harry's palms pressed flat against the wall as the older boy kissed him roughly.

Butterflies filled Harry's stomach, wings fluttering, making him feel sick in a strange yet wonderful way. Malfoy's lips were soft and warm and tasted distinctly of treacle tart pudding. He could felt his body melting, his heart pounding, skipping beats as it thrummed loudly in his ears. He wanted to capture the moment, live in it, savor it. 

As Draco's lips moved against his, he swore to himself that if this was what love felt like, he would be willing to risk everything to protect it. He would suffer the Cruciatis curse a hundred times if it meant he could relive this moment and relish it forever.

When Draco finally broke the kiss, Harry took a moment to open his eyes and catch his breath, still pressed against the wall with Malfoy's body flush against his. Happiness swirled in the pit of his stomach like a stirring cauldron. 

When his eyes fluttered open, his heart leaped in his chest. Draco's forehead was pressed coolly against his, the boy's beautiful eyes locked intently on Harry's face.

"Wow," Harry swallowed hard, speaking barely above a whisper. "Well, um, I'll just shut up now."

Draco snickered, his lips hitching into a smirk. "You better, or I'll have to snog you again."

"Then I should _keep_ doing it?"

"If that's what you're into,"

"Well, okay then."

Draco's smirk softened and transformed into a look of awe and adoration. It was an expression that Harry found completely foreign on the Slytherin's face, and he giggled uncontrollably.

"What?" Harry asked, smiling.

Draco reached up with his free hand to gently slide his fingers along Harry's flushed cheek and into his wildly disheveled hair. "Do you know how long I wanted to be close to you like this? It was maddening."

"Is that why you hated me?" Harry asked, resting his arms on Malfoy's broadening shoulders and staring breathlessly into the Slytherin's stunning grey eyes.

Draco nodded slightly. "Yes," he twirled a lock of Harry's jet-black hair between his fingers. "That, and because I had to." A sudden sadness filled his eyes, his lips tightening with unspoken regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Harry shook his head and pulled him into a loving embrace. "Don't be."

The corridors of the castle were silent. The only sound the muted crackling of fire from the torches on the walls above them, and the distant sound of a leaking faucet, a soft _drip_ , _drip_ , _drip_.

Harry felt a calm settle over him as he quietly stroked the back of Malfoy's hair, feeling the Slytherin's chest rise and fall against his. 

_This must be what happiness feels like,_ Harry thought with a smile.

Draco's muffled voice broke the silence. "I'm sorry I scared you,"

"It's okay," _It wasn't okay_. "Just don't do it again," Harry chuckled nervously. He frowned and extracted himself from Draco's arms. "What happened anyway?"

Draco's jaw clenched, and he picked at the dried mud on his robes. "It was just. . . I had a . . . seizure of some sort. Madam Pomfrey said my panic brought it on or something. It was fear-induced. In other words, I brought it on myself like a bludgering idiot."

"What? You were scared? Of what?! It was just a game of Quidditch."

Draco looked embarrassed. "You ever have. . . nightmares? Or like, flashbacks or something of the sort?" he asked shyly.

Harry grimaced. "Maybe. Sometimes."

"Let's leave it at that, then. You get it."

"What?! No, I don't!"

Draco rolled his eyes in mild frustration. "Just, never mind, Potter."

"You said something about dementors. What was that about?" 

"It was dark, okay? It was cold, and it was loud, and . . ." Draco's voice had become anxious, his face pinched at the memory. "The sky it. . . it was so dark." He gave Harry a helpless look that broke his heart. "I don't know what happened, okay? I just bloody snapped. My mind was all fuzzy, and I couldn't think. I just felt like I needed to run and hide, and I kept thinking about them and what happened, and I don't want it to happen again. If it does, I'll die, and I'm scared of dying, Potter. I don't want to die. I just want everything to be over. I just want to have a normal fucking life!"

Draco's eyes glistened, and Harry's chest ached unbearably at the sight. He pulled Draco back into his arms and held him again, tightly, not in the least bit willing to let him go.

"It will be over. Just give it a bit more time. In the meantime, live in the moment. _This_ moment. Right now." Harry whispered soothingly.

Draco squeezed him back with his uninjured arm, and Harry swore he heard him whimper softly into his shoulder. Harry felt something crumple beneath the Slytherin's robe.

"What's that?" He asked, pulling back to pat Draco's chest.

Malfoy's eyes widened, and a look of sudden excitement spread across his face as he opened his robe and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I-I forgot! I don't know how," he sniffed and handed it to Harry. "It's from Dumbledore. He's transferring me from Slytherin."

A wide smile broke across Harry's face as his eyes scanned the crumpled parchment and the Headmaster's loopy cursive script. "To Gryffindor!"

Draco wiped his eyes on his sleeve and nodded vigorously, beaming back at Harry. "He said he didn't think it was safe. Says I miffed 'em off when I started loitering about with you and your little friends."

Harry squealed loudly and shoved the note in his pocket before latching onto Draco's arm and practically dragging him down the hall. "This is brilliant!"

"I never thought I'd say this, but I think that crack-pot old fool is growing on me," Draco responded, dissolving into gleeful laughter.

Harry tugged at Draco's sleeve excitedly. "Well, c'mon then! Hurry!"

Laughing happily, the two boys ran through the castle, Harry intertwining their fingers.

This was going to be brilliant.


	28. -27-

Draco had known where the Gryffindor Common Room and dorms were, but he had never been inside. The portrait hole was smaller than he had thought it was, but it was still more than large enough to fit through. Legs dangling over the edge of the wall, Draco took in his surroundings.

It was warm, and bright, and filled with people. Laughter and playful conversation rippled through the air, and Draco felt a growing warmth spread through his body as the tiniest of smirks played across his lips.

Harry, who had crawled through the portrait hole before him, smiled up at him and offered him a hand. Draco took it and hopped down effortlessly, his hair bouncing.

"So, what d'ya think?" Harry asked curiously. 

Draco shrugged. "It's _almost_ what I imagined." he playfully scowled. "There's more of you lot than I suspected."

Harry chuckled. "Well, it doesn't usually look like this," he said, nodding to the many red and gold striped party streamers and the many cups and half-eaten plates littering the room. "Normally, it's a bit cleaner than this."

"Well, that's a bloody relief! To think that the Chosen One lives in such a hovel is staggering." 

Harry laughed, and he opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by an anxious-looking Hermione.

"Harry, Draco, what happened? Are you okay?" She babbled, her eyebrows tightly furrowed as she reached out to give Draco a friendly touch on the shoulder. Her dark eyes widened when she saw his arm tucked into the sling.

Draco noticed and smiled in response. "Oh, don't mind this. I only sprained it a bit. It'll heal up right quick,"

"He's fine. We can talk about it later," Harry glanced curiously around the room. "The party is still going on? What time is it?"

Hermione ignored him, staring at Draco, looking suddenly confused. "Wait, did Harry sneak you in here? What're you two up to?"

Draco's eyes twinkled, and he gave Harry a knowing glance. "Well," he said cheerfully. "You tell 'er."

"Yeah, one second," Harry was practically glowing, and Draco took another moment to appreciate the Gryffindor's toothy smile. "Ron!" Harry shouted, staring across the room. He waved his hand in the air excitedly, causing several curious heads to turn.

Ronald Weasley with his headful of brilliantly red hair, shouldered his way over, his skin sheen with sweat. He gave Draco a strange but curious look, and Harry's smile broadened.

"What's going on?" Ron asked slowly, scanning his friends' faces. 

Hermione gave him a shrug and then turned to Harry, waiting for an explanation.

Draco leaned casually on Potter's shoulder and smirked down at Harry's confused friends.

"Dumbledore moved Draco, so he's out of Slytherin, and he's going to be here now, with me . . . us." Harry gushed, his cheeks flushed as he stared at his friends nervously, hoping that they would be just as thrilled as he was.

Ron sputtered, but Hermione smiled instantly. 

"Wait, what?" she laughed, crossing her arms in disbelief. "But that's never been done before. Are you sure, Harry?"

Harry looked up at Draco for help, but he simply grinned deviously. "Show them the thing, the note."

"Ah, right! Brilliant!" Harry thrust his hand into his pocket and rummaged for a second before pulling out a very crumpled piece of paper. His hands shaking with excitement, he smoothed out the small piece of parchment and practically forced it into Hermione's hands. "There! Read it for yourself!"

Hermione laughed at his enthusiasm and then looked down at the yellowed paper, Ron peering over her shoulder with a cynical look on his freckled face. Hermione simply smiled and stammered.

"Wow," she said speechlessly, "This has never happened before. Ever."

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron muttered. "Even Dumbledore is breaking the rules now."

Hermione snorted at Ron. "He can't break the rules, Ronald. He makes them." 

"Well," Ron scratched his head dubiously. "Where's he gonna sleep?"

"With me!" Harry chirped thoughtlessly.

Draco's smirk grew a thousand times wider. "Well, well, Potter. Aren't you the bold one?" 

Ron had turned such a deep shade of red, Draco thought someone might have cast a _Bombarda_ charm at his head.

Hermione shook her head, curls flouncing, but she couldn't hide her amused smile. "No, Harry. The rules are quite clear. It says he has to sleep separately, Harry."

"Oh, right, but-"

"I think Dumbledore knows me well enough to know we won't be paying much attention to the rules, Granger." Draco interrupted Harry, wearing a haughty smirk, and Ron watched uncomfortably as Draco slid his hand down the small of Harry's back. 

Hermione handed the note back to Harry and crossed her arms again, straightening her shoulders as she smirked up at Draco. "And Dumbledore is a genius. He probably charmed you without you noticing."

Draco's smile faded noticeably, and a look of disdain and disappointment settled on his pointed features. "Damn it!" he cursed. "You're probably right."

"I am right," Hermione chirped. 

"She always is," Ron added pointedly. He looked extremely relieved.

"Oh, perk up, Harry! Nothing's changed. He's still staying here." Hermione giggled, noticing Harry's crestfallen expression.

"I know,"

Draco smiled again. "We should go check,"

"What?"

"We should go see if he charmed me."

"Good idea! C'mon, Malfoy."

Harry eagerly grabbed Draco's hand and began to drag him through the Common Room. People were finally beginning to filter out and head to their dorms. Several of Harry's classmates shouted out to him.

_"Good job today, Harry!"_

_"Great game, Harry."_

_"Nice flying, Harry!"_

_"Congratulations!"_

When they saw Draco, they began to whisper and mutter suspiciously to each other. He heard a few things that made his skin crawl, and he scoffed loudly, sneering. Whether Harry heard them or not, he didn't know because the Gryffindor kept walking, pulling Draco closely behind him. 

He hoped that he hadn't.

The dorms were smaller than the ones in Slytherin, but they were comfortable. Draco snooped around curiously, tracing the markings in the furniture and studying the photographs, posters, and Quidditch flyers cluttering the walls while Harry tidied his corner up a bit.

"Okay," Harry sighed, grinning broadly as he collapsed onto his four-poster bed. "C'mon, get over here, Malfoy."

Draco smirked back at him as he walked over. He braced himself. "Alright, here goes nothing,'" he slowly began to lower himself onto the bed.

They waited breathlessly for a moment, expecting a flash of light or a repellent spell. 

But nothing happened.

Draco's smirk transformed into a devilish grin as he turned to look at his ex-arch nemesis with quirked eyebrows. "Well, what d'ya know," 

Harry was all teeth and rosy cheeks. "I can't believe it."

"The old codger didn't charm me after all!"

No sooner had the words slipped out of Draco's mouth then he suddenly flew across the room and smacked into the wall with a loud _thump._

"Bugger!"

"You okay?!"

"Yeah," Draco groaned, slowly standing as he massaged the back of his neck, his face twisted into a grimace. "I shouldn't have said that."

Suddenly the door was thrown open, and two grinning faces peeked into the room.

"Hello, Harry," Fred and George said in unison. They grinned down at Draco, who was still slumped against the wall. "Hello, you sneaky bastard."

Harry readjusted his glasses and looked at the two Weasley twins suspiciously. "Hey," he said warily, "What're you two doing here?"

"Checking up on our new roommate, of course," George announced gleefully.

"So get in all the snogging you can now,"

"Because you're coming with us, Malfoy!"

"Lovebirds!"

Draco groaned and stared up at the ceiling. "Well played, Professor. Well played."

"Damn it," Harry rose clumsily from his bed and gave the twins a telling look. "Well?"

They simply smiled at him.

"Go away!"

"Never!" They responded in unison.

Harry rolled his eyes, and Draco smiled. "You're cute when you do that," The Slytherin said brazenly.

"Shut up," Harry blushed furiously and lowered his voice. "They're _watching_ us."

"Who cares," Draco grinned and pulled Harry closer, his heart stuttering as the color in Harry's cheeks deepened even further. Loving the embarrassment in Harry's face, he leaned in to kiss him. Fred and George snickered and began to hum loudly.

Being this close to Harry every day was going to be intoxicating. He wasn't sure if he would be able to control himself. But he grudgingly supposed that he would have to; otherwise, Ron's bulbous head really _would_ explode, and Harry would never forgive him. He chuckled into Harry's lips at the thought.

_"First comes love._

_Then comes marriage._

_Then comes baby in the baby carriage,_

_Sucking his thumb,_

_Wetting his pants,_

_Doing the hula, hula dance!"_

Draco felt Harry stop moving his lips, and the Gryffindor stepped back and raised his hands in defeat.

"I can't do this," he said flatly. "Not with them staring at us singing that stupid song!"

Draco laughed and playfully tousled Harry's messy hair before turning back to the Weasley twins.

"Alright then, let's get this over with already, then!"

If Fred's smile were any wider, Draco swore that his face might have split in two. "Just one quick question before we go." 

Harry sighed dismally. "Fine. What?"

George grinned wickedly. "Who's top?"

"Who's bottom?" Fred added.

There was a stupefied silence until Draco turned to face Harry, who was staring at the twins with a flushed and bewildered expression.

"Potter," he sighed. "Kill me. Kill me now."


	29. -28-

The next morning, before Draco even opened his eyes, he knew he wasn't in the Slytherin dorms. It smelled differently here, like fresh rolls of parchment and ink. The foul stench of murky lake water no longer assaulted his nostrils, and he took a deep breath in as his eyelids languidly fluttered open. 

The pale morning light shone through the window, softly illuminating the shadowy interior of the stuffy little room he shared with the Weasleys. He slowly raised his hands and forced himself upright, rubbing his eyes before glancing around the room.

"'Morning," Fred and George greeted him in harmony, sounding strangely solemn.

"'Morning," Draco mumbled groggily.

Fred looked back at him briefly before quickly looking away, a somber expression on his long, pale face before he straightened his robes, glanced strangely at his brother, and left. George's eyes lingered on Draco, however, and the Slytherin stiffly stared back. 

"Blimey, what is it?" Malfoy groaned.

George ran his fingers through his messy red hair, "It didn't sound like you slept very well last night. That's all." he stated matter-of-factly. 

"Oh," Draco felt a knot of dread forming in the pit of his stomach, "What do you mean?"

George hesitated. "Never mind. Nothing." He stood and threw his wrinkled leather book-bag over his shoulder before turning to leave the room. "See ya later, lover-boy."

"Bye," 

Draco lingered in his bed for a moment, staring at the wall expressionlessly, lost in thought.

He must have had another nightmare. Lately, he'd had trouble remembering them at first, but they would come to him gradually in bits and pieces throughout the day. Draco clambered out of bed and threw on his robes.

He wasn't sure how he felt about his new clothes. He was positive that red was not his color, and he positively _loathed_ the Gryffindor tie. But if it meant spending more time with Harry, he could make amends with it. Raking his eyes over his body in the mirror, Draco adjusted his sleeves and loosened his button-down collar before finally meeting his own gaze. The knot in his stomach clenched, and he frowned dismally at his reflection.

His eyes were swollen and puffy, and his cheeks were dry and chafed as if he'd been crying in his sleep. Had he? He swallowed, and his gaze unwillingly shifted to his injured arm. Slowly, he slipped it out of his sling and lifted the silk-lined sleeve of his robe, his jaw clenching. 

The soft, pale skin was spotless and unblemished, except for the large, unsightly black mark branded on his inner forearm—the telling sign of a Death Eater. The knot in his stomach tightened sickeningly, and he grimaced, watching as the mark twisted and slithered. . . burning. Draco's face twisted with pain.

"Malfoy?"A timid voice broke the eerie silence.

Draco started, quickly tugging down his sleeve as he cast an alarmed, wide-eyed glance over his shoulder.

Ronald Weasley watched as Draco tucked his arm back into his sling, a troubled expression on his face as their eyes clashed. 

Draco felt his cheeks burn with shame as they stood apart in silence.

"Erm, it's breakfast time," Ron said, clearing his throat. "We're about to head down if you want to come along."

"Sure, sure, just . . . I'll be right there." Draco stammered, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head, trying to clear his anxious thoughts.

"Alright," Ron glanced sheepishly at Malfoy's wounded arm again before backing out of the doorway and disappearing, his retreating footsteps tapping noisily against the winding stone staircase.

Draco groaned out loud and collapsed back onto his bed, burying his face in his hands and then running his fingers tiredly through his hair.

After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he stood and straightened his shoulders, forcing a look of haughty indifference before grabbing his book-bag and walking gracefully out of the room. 


	30. -29-

Weeks later, Ronald Weasley was still just as bewildered about Harry's latest romantic endeavors as he had been before. He couldn't shake the feeling of amazement every time he saw the two boys together. They walked hand in hand to every class and held each other in the Common Room as if there was no one around, no one giving them nasty glances and strange looks. 

It was one thing for Harry to be a poof, and another thing for Harry to be completely smitten with Draco Malfoy. No matter how many times Ron pondered it all in his head, none of it made any sense. He couldn't figure out how any of this had happened. 

Still, seeing the two boys together, he couldn't help but smile. He had never seen Harry so happy in all the years that they had spent together, and Harry's girlish behavior made it all the more golden. Sometimes, he and Hermione shared a private laugh over it, but they had nothing but warm feelings of friendship for Malfoy in the end, despite all of the bad blood between them.

Honestly, Malfoy was a decent enough bloke underneath it all. His sense of cruelty and satisfaction in the suffering of others was still just as much a part of him as it had been before. But, instead of taking it out on the trio as he had done, he used it to sneer and shout insults at anyone prejudiced enough to comment out loud. The occasional word or two against Harry would spill out of someone's mouth, and no sooner had it rolled off of their tongue than Draco had clocked them squarely in the face or threatened to hex them.

This Ron particularly enjoyed. The Malfoy could handle being called a "faggot," or a "queer" or a "little freak," but if anyone said anything about Harry, he lashed out like a snake, deadly and fierce. 

Seeing Harry and Draco _together_ was one thing, but seeing them apart was another entirely. Harry was happy as could be, but deep down, something was troubling him, and he was determined not to talk about it. Draco, on the other hand, whenever he thought no one could see him, he would dissolve into tears of pain and anguish. 

Ron never mentioned what he had seen that one morning in Gryffindor tower, but he hadn't forgotten. From time to time, Draco's hands would clench into fists, his knuckles white as he gritted his teeth in pain. It would happen at night, in the Common Room, it would happen while he slept (At least, that's what Fred and George had told him), and it would happen in the middle of class, Draco grinding his teeth together and pretending to be perfectly fine while Harry sat smiling beside him. 

It was the Dark Mark. Ron had tried to mention it to him several times, but Draco would feign ignorance, marking it up as a lingering side-effect of his injury from the Quidditch match that one night, and then walking away or changing the subject.

This baffled Ron. Obviously, Malfoy needed help, but the Slytherin was determined to keep his troubling affliction to himself. The Pureblood was just as pompous and proud as he had always been.

However, one particular afternoon in Potions, Ron wondered differently. Maybe he wasn't proud. Maybe, the feeling he really felt was shame. 

"Fuck, this potion is a mess. Are you sure we got the ingredients right, Potter?" Malfoy asked incredulously, staring down into the contents of their cauldron with a look of disgust on his pale, pointed face.

Harry chuckled softly and shrugged his shoulders beneath his robes. "Honestly, I have no idea," his cheeks reddened visibly. "You've been distracting me." 

"Have not," A small smirk tugged at Draco's lips, and his eyes twinkled merrily. "I've done nothing but focus on my work, and you should probably do the same." 

"How am I going to do that with you right here?"

"I don't bloody know," Draco laughed, "We'll switch partners. Granger likes me enough. I'll take her, and you can have Weasley."

Harry looked hesitant as he glanced sheepishly at his friends. 

Ron snorted at him and shook his head. "Switching partners isn't going to help, Malfoy. Blimey, what you _both_ need is separate classes!"

"He's got a point," Harry agreed.

Draco's mischievous smirk broadened, "Alright then, guess I'll have a little chat with Dumbledore later."

"W-what?! No!" Harry sputtered, horrified.

"Jesus fucking Christ, Potter! Can't you tell a joke when you hear one?"

And then, Draco's smile faltered, and Ron made a note of his whitened knuckles and clenched jaw. It was bothering him again. 

Ron met his gaze, and the Slytherin tried to look away from him, but he was determined. Pushing back his chair, Ron made his way to the cupboards in the back of the classroom and began rifling through the ingredients, signaling for Malfoy to join him.

Draco rolled his eyes vigorously before grudgingly standing and strutting over. 

"What?" he snapped aggressively, vaguely annoyed. 

Ron pretended to take an interest in a jar of Newt-eyes, "It's bothering you again, isn't it?"

"Isn't _what_?" Draco hissed. "If you mean my arm, of course, it is. I practically shattered it. It'll be smarting for weeks."

"Bloody hell," Ron scoffed, setting the jar aside to glare openly at Malfoy. "C'mon, we both know what I'm talking about!"

A strange mix of emotions that Ron couldn't read flashed across the Slytherin's face as he fidgeted with the lid on a jar of Armadillo Bile, his lips twitching, eyes flickering as if he were wrestling with the words he needed to say next. He settled for, "Shove off, Weasley! It's none of your bloody business anyway, is it?"

"You're running your creepy little hands all over my best mate, so yes, I'd say it is," Ron retorted, narrowing his eyes. "I'm not judging you, Malfoy. I never thought I'd say this to you of all bloody people, but I just want to help, alright'?"

Ron watched Draco warily, his eyes wandering to the Slytherin's trembling fingers. Malfoy opened the lid with a loud _screeching_ sound, making several heads turn.

"Piss off!" He yelled, making Snape glare narrowly at him from across the classroom. "Sorry, Professor." Finally, unable to lift his eyes to meet Ron's confused gaze, he began to speak in soft, muted tones, his voice conflicted. "Look, there's nothing you can do about it, okay? Once it's there, you can't get rid of it. I just have to deal with it. And yes, it hurts!" a vulnerable look washed over Malfoy's twisted features, catching Ron off-guard. "It feels like it's roasting, but all I can do is try to ignore it. You should, too."

With that, he set the open jar back down on the cluttered counter-space and walked back to his desk to answer Harry's perplexed questions. 

"What was that about?"

"Nothing,"

Ron stared blankly at the back of the Slytherin's head, his mouth half-open. There had to be something they could do. He couldn't imagine what it felt like to be in Malfoy's shoes. It can't have been pleasant. 


	31. -30-

The Divination classroom was wonderfully cool, a drastic but very welcome change for Harry after being cooped up in Snape's stuffy dungeon classroom for over an hour with 30 steaming cauldrons bubbling away in the oppressive heat. Here, the windows were open, the long, velvety curtains fluttering softly in the gentle breeze as the rain fell silently from the pale, grey sky.

The silvery color of the clouds perfectly mirrored Draco's stormy eyes, and Harry felt his heart flutter at the welcome reminder, the tiniest of whimsical smiles flickering across his lips as a warm blush colored his cheeks. 

If he were allowed, he would gaze into Draco's startlingly sterling eyes until he was utterly and hopelessly lost in them forever.

Several frustrated groans and muttered complaints broke Harry out of his trance and drew his attention to the familiar, crystal orb perched in the center of his table. He sighed as he dismally watched the colors shift and swirl beneath the smooth, glass-like surface, first changing from a hazy pink to a cloudy blue. 

Were they doing _this_ again? He frowned as his stomach tied itself into knots, a cold, hard lump of dread making his insides curdle. He knew what he would see:

Voldemort, or his mother and father. 

Harry felt a sharp pang in his chest, and tears pricked his eyes. He folded his arms on the table and buried his face in them. 

"Hey, mate! Sorry I'm late," Ronald Weasley panted, as he dropped his book bag carelessly on the floor and collapsed beside Harry. "What'd I miss?"

Harry reluctantly lifted his head and gave Ron a dreary smile. "Not much," he sighed. "Trelawney hasn't told us what we're doing yet, but it seems pretty obvious, doesn't it?"

Ron followed Harry's gaze, and his shoulders slumped. "Oh, not again," he groaned. "Is she serious? How much are we really gonna learn from these bloody things?"

"Apparently, a lot more than we did the last time."

Ron grimaced. "Well, the stupid thing was wrong then, so who's to say it wouldn't mess it up again? I'm tellin' you; you can't trust these things." He wrinkled his nose and glared at it as if he could make it disappear.

Harry wished he could. 

He didn't need any more reminders of his fate. He had plenty of other constant reminders that he had to face every single day, and the biggest one of all stared right back at him in the mirror. 

"You alright, mate?" Ron asked, slowly scanning Harry's face with a concerned expression.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

Ron didn't look convinced, but before he could say anything else (Thank God), Professor Trelawney had finally taken her place in front of the classroom.

"My dear children," she began, her eyes looking ever so large behind her thick, black glasses. "Today, you will be looking into the future! But, this time, we are looking far, far ahead. We will be looking far beyond your years here and into the decades ahead."

A murmur of sudden excitement rippled through the classroom, and Harry slowly perked up, his curiosity getting the better of him like it usually did. 

"What you see today is not absolute, and can change very quickly, which is why I am gifting each of you with your own crystals. You will return them to me at the end of the semester. Depending on your choices in the upcoming months, you could very well change your fate, so think wisely before you act."

Professor Trelawney, a beaming smile plastered on her face, flicked her wand, and more than a dozen glittering stones flew from her desk and began to fly wildly around the room.

Harry stood to catch one before sinking back into his cushion on the floor and gazing at it in silent wonderment. He rolled the smooth crystal between his fingers, watching the colors fade and swirl. It almost looked as if it had a pulse, a tiny little heartbeat. It fit perfectly in his palm. It was nearly the same size as a baseball.

Ron frowned at his crystal ball, pouting. "Mine's chipped," he groaned.

Finally, Professor Trelawney instructed them to begin and take turns using the ball on their table. Harry watched Ron curiously, waiting to get some sort of response from his unreadable expression.

Ron was squinting into the crystal, his nose scrunched up as he waited impatiently.

Harry snorted at his face, and Ron gave his friend a quick glare. "Sorry,"

Harry chewed at his fingernails, suddenly feeling that knot in his stomach again, a hundred questions suddenly drilling holes into his brain.

What if he never became an Auror? What if his life turned out nothing like he hoped it would? What if . . . what if all he saw was nothingness. What if. . . ?

No. Harry couldn't even bring himself to finish the last question, and yet, he still couldn't quiet the tremulous little voices in his head. He was afraid. Maybe he shouldn't look. Perhaps he should ask to go to the loo. 

"Bloody hell!" 

Harry looked up at Ron with a start. His friend's face was a deep shade of crimson, and his mouth was hanging open like a flytrap. 

"What?"

Ron stared at Harry in complete and utter bewilderment. "You won't believe who I married!"

"Luna?" Harry teased, grinning. "Was it Loony Lovegood? I have to admit, you two would make a _lovely_ pair, though I think you're children would be a little-" he clicked his tongue and circled his index finger next to his temple.

Ron groaned in exasperation, his face still a burning hot red. "W-what?! No!"

"Then who?!"

"'Mione," Ron swallowed hard and began to clutch at his throat as he sank back into his cushion, his body rigid with shock. "I can't fucking believe it."

Harry chuckled. "Me neither. She could do a lot better!" Ron shot him another dangerous glare, and Harry raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry, only kidding, mate."

Run huffed and pushed the ball towards Harry, crossing his arms over his chest. "Alright," he grumbled. "Your turn."

Harry's stomach lurched, and he felt his heart begin to beat rapidly inside his chest. He couldn't run now.

Narrowing his eyes, Harry leaned forward on the table and stared into the ball, clenching his fists and digging his nails deeply into his palms. Maybe it wouldn't be something terrible. Maybe. . . perhaps it would all be okay. 

All Harry could hear was his heart thumping loudly in his ears. 

The swirling colors, which had been a sunny shade of yellow faded and darkened into a shadowy ashen grey, and Harry felt a shiver run down his spine. The knot in his stomach clenched. As the fog cleared, Harry could see himself clearly. 

He was older, maybe in his late twenties. He recognized his surroundings. He was in his godfather's gloomy old house, sitting on the sagging sofa, his head resting dejectedly in his hands as he emitted low, guttural sobs that wrecked his body. Harry could almost feel the pain. He realized that what he was seeing was what he had been the most afraid of. 

He was alone. 

He watched as his older self lifted his head, his hair wildly disheveled, his eyes red and swollen. He grabbed something lying on the sofa beside him and clutched it to his chest, his body shaking violently with silent grief. 

Harry's eyes widened as he stared into the crystal. That was . . . Draco's jumper. It was unmistakable. 

Feeling violently ill, Harry shoved the ball away with a forceful push, making it roll off of the table and shatter into pieces on the floor with a loud _crash_.

Ron stared at his friend in shock, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. "Harry . . ."

All eyes were focused on him, quiet murmurs filling the room, but Harry couldn't have cared less. His heart felt as if it, too, were shattering into a thousand shards.


	32. -31-

_Harry's office was small and cluttered, but it was cozy. There was a warm fireplace, and on either side of that were two giant mahogany bookshelves overflowing with advanced spellbooks, moving pictures, and the occasional Hogwarts memorabilia. Directly at the front of the tiny room was Harry's desk, which seemed much too large for the space it currently occupied. The top of it was covered with documents, and tall, quivering piles of manila envelopes stuffed to bursting with essential case files._

_It was 4 in the afternoon, and the sun was just barely peeking through the thick, velvety red curtains. The room was dark and unlit, except for the fire blazing in the fireplace, casting a warm, orange glow across Harry as he lay sleeping at his desk. He was slumped over in his chair, his cheek pressed into the top of his desk with his arms strewn haphazardly across miscreant piles of unread documents and barely-glanced at photographs. His glasses were askew, and his wiry jet-black hair was sticking up every which way. There was a dark smear of ink across the bridge of his nose_. 

_Although he appeared to be sleeping quite peacefully to the naked eye, the truth was that he was having another nightmare. Well, actually, it wasn't just a nightmare; It was a memory. A horrible memory being replayed in the back of his subconscious with only a few minor changes here and there. It played back over and over again until he would wake up gasping for air, his tired emerald green eyes filled with pain and tears, the name of the boy he had loved now all but a ghostly whisper softly falling from his trembling lips._

_The tea kettle floating over the fire began to whistle loudly, and like he usually did, Harry awoke with a sharp gasp. He sat up quickly in his seat, his eyes wide, the bags underneath them looking very dark and shadowy in the poorly lit room. The tea kettle whistled on furiously as Harry grimaced, a tear escaping from the corner of his eye as he reached up to gingerly brush the faded scar resting beneath the dark fringe of his hair. It still tingled from his dream, and he fought the overshadowing gloom that was beginning to enshroud him. His chest tightened, and his throat restricted. His heart felt as if it were caving in on itself._

_Harry knew this feeling._

_Although the War had been over for years now, and Harry's time at Hogwarts felt like centuries ago, the truth was, his wounds were still not fully healed. He wondered whether they ever would. Throughout his years at Hogwarts, Harry had lost many people that he had loved, and even before then, he had lost his parents. He had lost Sirius, who had felt like the closest thing he'd had to a father. He had lost Remus and Tonks. And he would never forget Fred Weasley. And of course, there was Dumbledore, who little Harry had looked up to for years._

_**And then there was Draco.** _

_That loss had hit Harry like a Cruciatus curse. That loss had been the worst of all of them, not just because he had loved him special, but because he had loved him for so long without even realizing it. They had only been together for a brief time before everything happened, but it was enough for Harry to begin to dream. It was enough for Harry to decide that he had wanted to spend the rest of his life with him._

I _t was then that Harry realized what it felt like to love someone truly. To have that one person you cared for more than anyone else in the entire world ripped away from you. It felt like your world was exploding. It felt like a thousand daggers shredding your heart into pieces. And when you finally realize that you'll never see that person again, that you'll never hold them or speak to them again, that's when you begin to lose your breath. The pain starts to overwhelm you like a crushing wave of bone-breaking sadness, and all you can do is scream and wail and cry until you have no more tears left to shed._

 _And then you lay there, numb, broken, and empty, listening to the sound of the clock ticking, ticking; time passing, moving forward without that one person who **still** should have been there_.

_And that's when you wish you were dead too._

_Harry squeezed his eyes shut, his face scrunched up tightly as he struggled to push back the tears and get back to work before someone walked in and saw him like this._

_In the back of his head, Harry could hear Draco's voice as clear as if he were sitting right beside him, and he could hear the playful smirk in it._

_"Potter, unstable as ever, having a mental breakdown . . . **again** ," he tsked and shook his head. "In the middle of a workday, no less. Shameful!"_

_And then Harry fell apart, covering his face with his hands as his shoulders dropped, and he closed in on himself again. His throat tightened, and his heart clenched in his chest as if someone were squeezing it in their fist. He sobbed as quietly as he could, but it was nearly impossible. He ran his fingers up into his hair and pulled, his mouth hanging open, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he let out a silent scream. The veins in his neck popped as every muscle in his body tensed._

_He wondered how emotional pain could be so physically draining. He felt lifeless. He felt like a dead man walking. It didn't help that his reflection only reminded himself of Draco early on in his 5th year. He had been sick, missing the better part of his soul and yet still alive. Maybe to some extent, this was precisely how he had felt? The memory of Draco crying in the boys' lavatory flashed before his mind's eye, and then other memories followed. . ._

_Fingers distractedly wandering through soft blonde hair. Warm lips. The taste of peppermint toothpaste and the smell of paper and cologne. Green apples and sloppy smirks, that all-too-familiar drawl, and pale-grey eyes._

_Tremors ran through Harry's body as he continued to cry as silently as he could._

_The tea kettle was still whistling, and it helped to mask whatever noises Harry made in that cramped little room._

_Finally, several long, body-breaking minutes passed, and Harry finally looked up, his eyes red and swollen behind his glasses. He swallowed hard and dried his eyes on his sleeve as he stood and walked to the fireplace. He poured himself a cup of tea and sat back down at his desk, now sitting in complete silence as he stared at the wall lifelessly. Now, all he could hear was the sound of the Grandfather clock in the corner by the door._

_**Tick, tick, tick, tick . . . .** _

_Harry wished he were dead too._


	33. -32-

Harry was curled up on his bed, propped up against his pillows with his covers drawn over his knees. He was gazing intently into his cupped hands where the little crystal ball sat, his face twisting with pain every so often as his eyes glazed over with tears. His lips were pursed and drawn together in a very thin, wavery line as he swallowed the burning urge to cry, a weak little whimper escaping him every now and then as he lost himself in the cloudy scene playing out before him. 

Ron watched him silently from the bed beside his, a sad and solemn look on his face as he watched his friend suffer helplessly. There wasn't much he could do. He couldn't change whatever it was that Harry saw in the ball, and he certainly couldn't change the future. If it hurt Harry this much, it had to be something awful, and Ron would give anything to make his best mate smile again, even if only for a moment. 

"What is it?" he finally asked, breaking the stale silence between them. "What do you see?"

Harry didn't answer. 

Ron swallowed hard, and propped himself up on his elbow, and turned to face his friend. "You have got to stop staring at that thing, mate," he told him. "It's not doing you any favors. And whatever it is you see, it can change. Remember? Whatever it is, it's not absolute."

Still no answer. Ron noticed a slight adjustment in Harry's expression. His lips curled downward, and his eyes narrowed, his face blanching as several tears fell down his cheeks. Ron grimaced and shifted uncomfortably, staring into the shadows wavering in the corners of the dimly lit room.

"Harry? What do you see?" He fidgeted with the fringe of his quilt and allowed his gaze to shift warily back to Harry's now tear-streaked face. "I mean, it goes several years into the future, right? What . . ." his tongue darted across his lips nervously. "What happens?"

Harry finally tore his eyes away from the ball and set it down on the rickety wooden table beside his bed, twisting his head to look at Ron with his eyes still swimming. 

In a very small, strained voice, he said quietly, "I lose him. I lose Malfoy."

"What do you mean?" Suddenly, Ron felt a surge of anger, and he sat up, giving Harry a fiery glare. "Does he leave you? 'Cause I swear to god, if he tries, I'll smash the prick's snobby little face in. He doesn't deserve you, mate. At least, he doesn't if he hurts you again."

Harry shook his head and then let it drop, his eyes fixated on his hands where they lay in his lap. "No," he said tremulously, "He dies."

Ron's stomach dropped sickeningly, his dinner churning, and he grimaced again as he felt a shooting pang of regret. "Oh,"

"I mean, I don't see it. I can't pinpoint when it happens, but I think it happens sometime soon. I'm scared, Ron. What am I supposed to do? I can't stop it if I don't know anything. I need to stop it! I can't go through that. I can't live without him. How could I? I just love him so much. He means everything to me. If he dies, I'll . . . I'll . . . ," he cut himself off, biting his lip, his thick eyebrows furrowing in distress. His voice broke, and he finally looked up at Ron again, his expression perfectly mirroring the brokenness he felt inside. "If he dies," he cried, his voice ever so small. "I'll die."

Ron had no idea when Harry had become so openly vulnerable, and he definitely had no idea when Harry had begun to care for that dodgy, oily-headed Slytherin. Still, it didn't matter in the end, did it? Ron had spent a lot of time in the past few weeks contemplating the two boy's strange yet compelling relationship, and he had begun to realize that it didn't matter who or what the boy had done before all of this. It had all been a mask, a shield to protect himself from harm, and Ron couldn't say he blamed him, because honestly, he didn't. He would likely have done the same in Malfoy's position, if not worse. Being a part of such a well-known family, having a father like Lucius Malfoy, and being forced to become a Death-Eater? Draco hadn't had many options until now. He had been stuck between a rock and a hard place. He had tormented the three of them so heatedly all of these years out of fear, not out of malice. It had all been a mask to conceal the things he really felt.

Ron hesitantly stood and approached his friend, sitting down on the bed beside him. He drew his legs up off of the floor and folded them underneath him as he watched his friend come undone, covering his face with his hands and beginning to sob. 

"We'll keep an eye on him, okay?" Ron offered weakly. "We'll keep an eye on 'im and never let him out of our sight. If your busy, I'll stand by him, okay? Keep the bloke outta trouble, so to speak.

Slowly, he reached out and laid his hand on Harry's back, giving him a pat or two. He shifted uncomfortably, unaccustomed to providing comfort like this. What did he do when Hermione was like this? He tried to think. Oh, who was he kidding? She was never like this. 

Harry continued sobbing, and Ron decided he wouldn't try to stop him. Maybe letting him carry on was what he needed right now. He wished Malfoy were here . . . he would do a better job of whatever this was. Somehow, Draco always seemed to know how to handle things like this. Ron sort-of felt like a stand-in. Hesitantly, he inched closer to his friend. 

"Alright then, come 'ere you git," he groaned, pulling Harry into a hug. "Just let it out . . . I guess. That's right."

For a good long minute, they just sat there, Ron giving him a pat or two every so often, and a little squeeze. He stared at the wall over Harry's shoulder and waited, ignoring the fact that it was nearly 10, and soon Neville and Seamus would be heading to bed. God forbid they saw Harry like this! Oh, the ridicule. Those two had been acting distant lately, and Seamus, the more closed-minded of the two, had been making cruel and snippy remarks under his breath lately. He would have a right good laugh at Harry if he saw him like this. Ron knew that Harry had heard all the things that Seamus said, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. Funny how roles had been reversed. Draco was kind-hearted and caring, and Seamus had become sick, twisted, and cruel, leering at Harry every chance he got. 

Ron felt like he was trapped in some sort of strange dream.

Finally, after what felt like an extremely uncomfortable eternity for Ronald, a slender, blonde-headed figure walked into the room his head bowed as he focused on the book he was holding open in his hand. He was eating an apple as he walked, his eyebrows furrowed slightly as he read.

"Sorry I wasn't at dinner, Potter. Had to catch up on Charms. I forgot how bloody hard some of the lessons were. This one, in particular, has been a bloody challenge, and I haven't. . . ." he stopped dead in his tracks, finally having looked up from the pages of his book to digest the scene before him. His face darkened. "Harry?" 

Ron signaled him over with his eyes, but Draco just stared back at him questioningly.

"He's been like this ever since Divination," Ron filled him in quietly, uncertain as to what details he was able to share. "You'll just have to . . . ask him yourself. And please, bloody take him! I'm not used to seeing him like this. Have no idea what I'm 'sposed to be doing."

Ron untangled himself from Harry's tight grasp and shuffled eagerly back to his bed. Draco just stood there awkwardly, a pained expression on his face.

"I can't . . . sit there. He has to come to me. Last time, I was sent flying across the room. Dumbledore set a perimeter spell, you see."

"Oh," Ron suddenly regretted pulling away, because now Harry was curled up in a ball, hugging his knees to his chest. He looked like a terrified little boy again.

Draco spoke, and Ron was startled as he usually was by the softness in the Slytherin's voice.

"Oi, Harry, c'mere. C'mon then. Come to me. I'm here, alright?"

Slowly, Harry lifted his head again. His eyes were red and swollen from crying as he stood shakily. Then, with a sudden burst of emotion, He ran to Draco and threw his arms around the older boy, and buried his face in his shoulder. He began to sob, the sound thankfully muffled by Draco's robes. 

"Shh, shh," Draco hushed, softly stroking the back of Harry's head. "It's alright. I have you now." 

He gave Ron another questioning look, and the red-head jerked his head pointedly towards the little crystal ball sitting on Harry's bedside table. Draco looked confused for a moment, but then something dawned on him. He stared at the crystal for a moment before pulling Harry closer and kissing him gently on the top of his head. 

"There, there," he breathed, closing his eyes and gently rocking the young Gryffindor back and forth where they stood. "I don't know what you saw, but I'm here. I'm never leaving you, okay? You're stuck with me."

Ron grimaced noticeably at his words, and Draco's eyes widened, confused as Harry tightened his grip on him and began to shake violently. There was so much pain and anguish in the sound of Harry's voice. This seemed a little too much like grief. There was a dark, nagging feeling at the back of Draco's brain that told him he wasn't crying over his parents. What could this possibly be about? What had he seen in that stupid ball? 

"Damn Divination to hell," Draco groaned, as he continued to stroke the back of Harry's head comfortingly. "We should toss all those ridiculous things off a cliff."

Ron nodded grimly. "I couldn't agree more."


	34. -33-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is a rather long chapter, but I felt that it was needed to show how far Draco's relationship with Ron has come. You might call them friends.

It was after midnight. Seamus and Neville were asleep, the curtains drawn shut around their beds, leaving Draco with a sleeping Harry and Ron, sitting sluggishly on his bed staring at the floor, lost deep in thought. 

The lamplight was dim, but it was enough for Draco to make out the peaceful look on Harry's face as he slept, and the Slytherin felt his heart swell inside his chest. He was sitting on the floor by the window, letting his fingers swim soothingly through the smaller boy's thick mess of tangled black hair. He admired the way the moonlight shone on Harry's face, and he quietly cursed himself for having fallen so hard for The Boy Who Shouldn't Have Lived.

He remembered how long he had craved this, staring at him from across classrooms, wondering what it would feel like to hold him, touch him, and kiss him. He wondered how it felt to have a conversation with him, one lacking maliciousness and snarling lips. He wondered what it felt like to be the one to make him smile and laugh, and he had been envious (Oh, so envious!) of Ron and Hermione. They had something with Harry that he wanted but thought he would never have.

If only he knew that one day he would have everything he ever wished for.

Draco slowly lifted his eyes from Harry's peaceful face and smiled regretfully across the room at Ron, his heart heavy.

"I'm sorry," he muttered softly, "f'everything."

Ron looked up, startled. "What? Oh, no, you've already apologized. It's fine."

Draco shook his head a little. "No, I can't say it enough. I was so callous to the three of you. I had no right to say or do any of the things I did, and . . . I'm embarrassed. So, I'm sorry."

Ron watched him a moment, studying him thoughtfully before he stood and quietly approached him. He sat down across from Draco and then glanced down at Harry before a small smile began to form on his lips. 

"Look, mate," he began in a quiet, raspy voice. "I get it. Yes, you were a complete git, but you had your reasons. I mean, I would have acted the same if I had been in your situation. I know I would have. I thought about it a lot, and this thing between you and Harry will always be a bit . . . weird for me, but, honestly, I'm glad for it." He hugged his knees to his chest and rested his head against the wall as he stared out the window into the starry night sky. He laughed. "I never took Harry for a fairy, although I will admit, I wondered about you a few times. Caught you starin' once or twice, and had a right laugh about it, so thanks for that. 'Mione thought I was mental. She still owes me an apology."

Draco grinned and shook his head at himself. "Blimey, I should have been more careful. Out of everyone, you were the last person I wanted to catch on, besides Harry, of course."

"Don't worry," Ron chuckled, brushing his long red hair from his eyes. "I didn't say anything to him. Besides, you're a weird bloke. I didn't know _what_ you were thinking."

"True that," Draco shrugged his shoulders, smiling as he began to twirl a lock of Harry's hair around his finger. "I could have been hexing him in my head."

"And I'm sorry for slugging you," Ron said sheepishly, "On the train."

"It's alright," Draco drawled, yawning. "I deserved it. Although one more, and ya could have killed me. I was a bit delicate."

"Yeah, how are you feeling now? Besides the arm, I mean."

Draco grimaced slightly and felt the need to lie, but he went against his instinct. He didn't need to lie anymore.

"I'm still a little weak. Have a bit of trouble getting up, y'know? Sometimes, my head gets a bit fuzzy, but it's nothing too serious. Other times . . . I get all cold inside, and I feel sick, but it passes after a while. And, as for my arm. . ."

Ron shook his head, "Look, you don't need to talk about that, mate. Not if you don't want to."

"No, no, it's fine. I'm just. . . not used to talking about it." Draco swallowed hard and forced himself to look Ron in the eye. He had hated the Weasley boy for so long, and yet here he was, having a casual heart-to-heart with him. Who would have thought? Draco licked his lips and sighed. "I wasn't really studying for Charms before. I skipped dinner to see Snape. I told him about the mark, and he gave me a sort of potion I'm going to have to take, but it will help with the pain, so thank Salazar for that, I guess. It will never fully go away, but it's something."

"That's good. I was worried you were just gonna leave it alone."

Draco smirked. "Oh, you were worried, were you? Sorry, Weaselbee, I'm taken."

"Oh, piss off!" Ron shot back, but despite his tone, he was grinning. 

The two boys sat in silence for a few minutes. Ron stared out the window at the moon as it rose over the trees' dark, skeletal figures. Draco simply focused on Harry, listening to the sound of his steady breathing in the quiet room, watching his eyelids flutter, and his eyebrows twitch. He smoothed Harry's hair and hummed softly to himself, startling Ron from his reverie. 

"I'm lucky," Draco admitted quietly, breaking the silence with a soft chuckle. "Some people have spent decades in love with someone they couldn't have. I thought maybe I would be one of those people, but . . . he loves me back. I was lucky. I am lucky."

Ron was curious. "When did. . . when was . . ." he stammered awkwardly. "Um, when did you start feeling things?" 

"We were getting fitted for robes, first year, at Madame Malkins," Draco laughed. "He walked in, and I don't think I'd ever been more confused in my life. He looked more confused than me, though. Had no idea what he was doing. It was bloody adorable."

Ron pretended to gag, but he was smiling. "It happened that long ago?"

"Moment I met him."

"I think I might be. . . y'know . . . going through something similar," Ron admitted, with a slight cringe.

Draco raised his eyebrows at him and smirked. "Oh really? And who is it?" he gasped a little too loudly. "Is it Granger?!"

Harry stirred in his lap slightly and buried his face in Draco's stomach. Ron gave him a severe look.

"Sorry," Draco mouthed, grimacing.

"But yes, it's Granger." Ron groaned and tiredly rubbed his eyes. "Bloody hell, why am I telling you this?"

"Because I have a trust-worthy face?"

Ron scoffed. "Hardly. You look like a ferret."

"Weasel!" Draco retorted. "Does Harry know?"

Ron shook his head.

Draco gasped and grinned broadly. "Oh, I feel special!" he teased.

"Don't you dare say anything, or I'll hex you!"

"No promises."

"I'll kill you!"

"Better get to me before Voldemort does, then."

Ron's smile fell, and Draco cursed himself again. It was meant to be a joke.

"Only kidding," Draco assured him, "Only kidding."

But despite that, he felt that all-too-familiar knot of dread in the pit of his stomach, and he sucked in a breath, his insides lurching violently. 

"It was just a joke," Draco whispered.

Only it really wasn't. Earlier, Ron had explained Harry's breakdown and what had caused it, and Draco had decided to peek into the future for himself. Maybe Harry was wrong. They would have a future together, right? A quaint little house not too far from the Ministry, maybe adopt a stray cat or a dog. Draco had always wanted one. His father had never allowed it. They were too untidy for his taste.

When he looked at the ball, at first, he thought maybe the crystal was broken. But then he realized what it was. He saw nothing—only darkness. Every witch and wizard knew what that meant.

It was a death omen. 


	35. -34-

_The sun was shining down brightly upon the Quidditch pitch, and the morning mist was rising, catching sunbeams that made rainbows like a dewy prism in the golden haze. Draco Malfoy stood in the center of the pitch with his broom at his side, his blood pumping. He was ready to fly._

_With a smile gracing his pale lips, he closed his eyes and lifted his face towards the light, soaking in the warmth as it washed over his skin. After countless cloudy afternoons spent cooped up inside the castle walls, it felt good to bask in the sunlight for a few moments. He felt alive for the first time in weeks, his soul stirring within him. All of Draco's fears and troubles melted like ice in his heart as he listened to the sound of the birds and the whistling of the wind sweeping over the grass._

_The sound of Harry's voice broke the stillness, and Draco opened his eyes and turned to face him with a glowing smile._

_"'Morning," Harry greeted him, his eyes narrowing with amusement and suspicion. "Why are you smiling? Did something happen? Wait a minute, What did you do?!"_

_Draco laughed and reached out to pull Harry into his arms. "I didn't do anything. I'm just happy to see you, is all."_

_Harry hitched up his thick, dark eyebrows knowingly, a comical smirk tugging at the corners of his rosy lips._

_"My God, Harry! You don't trust me at all, do you?"_

_"No, and why should I after all the years we've known each other? Hmm?" Harry teased, stepping back from the former Slytherin and crossing his arms over his chest. He grinned broadly. "Ferret!"_

_Draco scoffed with playful indignation."Fine. How 'bout this, Scarhead?" He raised his right hand and stood to attention, his legs pressed tightly together. "I solemnly swear that I am not up to no good."_

_"Hmmm," Harry stroked his chin thoughtfully, "I suppose I believe you."_

_"You better," Draco grinned, "Now come 'ere and kiss me, Potter, before I make you."_

_"Is that a challenge?" Harry quipped. His eyebrow twitched beneath the tangled fringe of his raven-black hair._

_Draco groaned in genuine frustration. "What? No! Just come 'ere. Not everything is a game, you know?"_

_"Or is it?"_

_"No! Get over here!"_

_Draco glared a bit at the shorter boy as he backed away, clutching his broom. There was a mischievous glint in Harry's eyes hiding behind the wireframes of his glasses._

_"Don't do this. Not again. You're always making me make you. I'm beginning to think that you don't actually want to kiss me." Draco sulked, taking a few steps forward as his fist tightened around his broom. "Don't you dare take off. I'm warning you, Potter."_

_There was something in Harry's eyes. Something that changed. They darkened, and that playful smirk slowly fell, changing into something else entirely. Something that Draco had never seen before on Harry's face, but rather on someone else. . . ._

_"What?" Draco asked warily, his stomach tightening._

_That sinister smile looked as if it might split Harry's face in two. The wind whistled loudly in Draco's ears, and then suddenly, it stopped, and the grass was still. It was as silent as the grave. Something wet hit Draco's cheek, and he looked up to see that the sun had vanished, the comforting golden glow completely hidden by gloomy black clouds._

_Draco swallowed as he returned his eyes to Harry's terrifying smile, his heart racing. The loud pumping sounds the only thing he could hear in the dead silence, like a hammer pounding inside his skull._

_Then, suddenly, Harry spoke, his voice raspy and not his own, the words spoken just barely above a whisper._

_"Catch me if you can."_

_Lightning struck, and Draco heard a ringing in his skull at the sudden flood of sound that came rushing back into his ears. The rain came pouring down mercilessly, soaking through his clothes and sending shivers down his spine. Lightning shook the ground and made the air sizzle with electricity. The earth groaned and growled like a monster come to life, and Draco felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle._

_Something was horribly wrong._

_Harry kicked off into the sky, racing towards the ominously black clouds, and Draco only had one instinct. Without thinking, he scrambled onto his broom and hurried to stop him. He braced himself against the wind as he rushed through the air, the ground falling further and further behind him as the clouds loomed nearer, larger than life and darker than black._

_"Harry!" He yelled, his voice grating against his throat like sandpaper. "Harry, come back! It's not safe up there!"_

_Harry kept flying, his robes flapping wildly behind him._

_Draco grasped his broom handle with one hand and shielded his eyes with the other as the rain streamed down his face in ribbons like a torrent of tears. He could barely see. He could just vaguely make out the outline of Harry's shadowy figure just below the clouds._

_"Harry!" He screamed as loudly as he could. The thunder muffled his voice, and he groaned in frustration. He leaned into his broom, leveling out his weight as he began to pick up speed. "Harry, come back!"_

_Then, Harry vanished, swallowed by the thick black fog filling the air. Draco felt his stomach drop sickeningly, and every shred of common sense he possessed told him to fly back. But he couldn't. Draco's knuckles blanched, his bone white beneath his skin as he tightened his grip on his broom and steeled his jaw with determination._

_The mist swallowed him whole, and for a moment, he couldn't see anything. He squinted into the dark. It was silent again. Dead silent. Draco shivered, his blood running cold, and that was when he saw them._

_Six figures were visible in the dense fog . . . Six tall, dark, floating figures wearing long, ragged black robes. Bony, gnarled hands with ribbons of rotted flesh clinging to the bone reached out for him, and he felt his heart stop beating._

_He wanted to move, but he couldn't. He was frozen in place with fear—that all-too-familiar sense of dread._

_It sounded like the inhaling of air, a deep breath in. A loud hissing sound broke the silence, and Draco's eyes rolled back into his skull as his grip on his broom loosened. A thousand dark, hated memories flooded his mind, and the happy ones were shrouded with a dreary curtain of sadness._

_He didn't even realize he was falling, speeding through the air and tumbling towards the earth beneath him like a comet, his body twisting, limbs flailing. All he could feel was the creeping feeling of death seeping through him, numbing him through to his bones. The air whistled in his ears, and his lungs felt empty as they burned in his chest, his heart pumping slower and slower as it succumbed to the poison eating at the insides of his soul._

_**"Well, I'm terrified now. I s'pose Lord Voldemort's just a warm-up act compared to you three - what's the matter? He's your dad's mate, isn't he? Not scared of him, are you?"** _

_Brain death. He could feel it happening. He could feel the life draining from him like a receding tide. He wanted this to be over._

_**"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."** _

_**"Draco, honey, I'm sorry, but your father is right. You can't escape this. It's your destiny."** _

_With a loud thump, Draco's body smacked into the ground. Draco opened his eyes. He was lying in the ground, dirt walls enclosing around him. The ever-frowning face of his father loomed over his grave, and Draco opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out._

_"No one betrays the Dark Lord," Lucius said, his voice laced with venom._

_And then, the ground began to swallow him whole, the walls collapsing in on him like an avalanche. He couldn't breathe. It was dark. His lungs burned as if they had been set on fire._

_So this is what it felt like to die. . . Kicking, sputtering for air, clawing at the dirt in a desperate yet feeble attempt to dig his way out._

_Someone shook his shoulder. . ._

"Draco! Wake up!"

Draco started, lifting his head up from the table with a loud gasp as he filled his lungs with air, his body shaking. His distorted vision cleared, and he looked around in shock, taking in his surroundings. 

"W-what?" he whispered breathlessly, his voice raspy from sleep. 

He was sitting in Potions beside Harry, who was staring at him with a horrified expression - along with the rest of the class. Everyone was whispering to each other. Professor Snape looked shocked, a completely different expression from the one he usually wore. 

Draco swallowed hard, but when he did, he choked. He coughed so hard he felt his lungs might explode. Harry rubbed his back soothingly.

"Hey, it's okay. It was. . . it was just a dream." He said softly, though he sounded unsure of his own voice.

Draco nodded and gagged, suddenly throwing his hand over his mouth as the urge to vomit gripped him. Throwing Harry's hands off of him, he stumbled out of his chair and raced out of the classroom before anyone could stop him. He raced to the loo as quickly as he could, dry-heaving into his hand. Finally, he burst into the boys' lavatory and collapsed in front of the toilet, gripping the cold porcelain on either side of the bowl as he heaved, his stomach clenching over and over, his muscles straining. 

He heard the bathroom door opening again, and hurried footsteps echoed off of the stone floor behind him.

"Draco, are you okay?!" Harry panted breathlessly, kneeling on the floor beside him.

Draco heard Ron and Hermione breathing hard behind him. He shook his head and gagged again as he struggled to speak.

"No." He gagged. "I was . . . I was buried-" Gag, "alive."

And then, he retched, the sounds making the others grimace. 

Finally, he stopped, his eyes stinging with tears, his face red from the exertion. "Fuck," he breathed, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He stared into the bowl, and he regretted doing so. "What the fuck . . ." he whispered. 

_Was that dirt?_

It was. He had puked up clumps of wet, soggy dirt and grass. Some of it was tinged red with blood. He felt sick again.

"Harry," he breathed, "I don't think it was just a dream."


End file.
